Return of the Peverells
by ano9748
Summary: CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN - CHAPTER 2 REWRITTEN Time Travel. CP(HP) & OC In 1999 Harry Potter vanishes. In 2005 Caspian Peverell vanishes. In 1985, the heir to a forgotten House returns, determined on saving his loved ones and the wizarding world, giving them the life they deserve NOT A SLASH FIC
1. Prologue (Rewrite)

**Hey everyone! **

**So yeah, I've repeatedly stated that I wasn't abandoning this fic, that I was working on it ...bla bla bla...until its been a full 2 years since I've updated.**

**I HAVE in fact been working on it though not at the speed I would have wished, but when you chose demanding studies, you have less time for other things. Because of the timelapse however, some of the things I've written bother me, and a few detailsI've put in that seem inconsequential, but that will have important impact later on meant I decided to rewrite. I've got a slight headstart in my rewrite, but to ensure regular if not speedy updates, i'll limit myself to once (or maybe twice)a month updates .**

**Thank you for all readers who have stuck by despite my absence, and I hope you won't be dissapointed.**

**Welcome to new readers.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome, please note that flames are not.**

**Until next time,**

**ano**

* * *

><p>Prologue (rewrite)<p>

The first thing that registered on Caspian's consciousness when he came to was the pain in his body. His limbs seemed as if on fire, a merciless pounding had taken up in his skull, and the slightest shift of position tore at his aching muscles, demanding reprieve.

Opening his eyes revealed a bleary gray morning, the tumultuous clouds fogging up the sky above as pervading as the weariness clogging up his brain.

Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he bit back a cry as another torturous throb tore through him, the effort required leaving him both out of breath and trembling. Looking down at himself, Caspian was hardly surprised to find his traveling cloak ruffled and torn; mud and an alarming amount of red staining large portions of it through. Most of the blood, as far as he could see, was not his.

It had probably come from his skirmish with Selwyn and Merks, when his last minute ducking had seen the latter's ferocious _Sectumsempra _slash his fellow _Discipulus_ open from top to bottom, spraying everything nearby with a shower of crimson.

After that, Caspian did not remember much. He knew Sampson and Cregg had fallen to his wand, and that his attempts to corner the last had been interrupted by… his throat constricted painfully._ Finch was dead._ A solitary tear made its descent from dulled globes of his usually sparkling eyes, tracing a wet track through the mixed grime, sweat and blood marring his face.

There had been a time- _how far it seemed now_- when Caspian (he hadn't even _been_ Caspian then) had believed he was done watching people die (_how naïve he had been_), that he had made it to the other side. He had sworn it to himself, quite seriously, and for a while, had even believed it. But then, with Ginny-she had been the first, he remembered- and Arthur, and Luna and Ron…..all of them. It has started all over again.

He'd joked bitterly; he could not quite recall to whom, that he was cursed, that surviving death twice doomed him to watch others fall. He had started seeing the truth in it. Death, it seemed, would circle him forever more, sparing him but taking his loved ones. Even running from his own life had not changed anything. They'd gotten Lysander. And then Severus,… Severus, the stubborn bastard, had taken off to avenge him, and they'd gotten him too. And now they'd gotten Finch as well, and left him alone, again, the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived- to- see- everyone- else- Die.

Alone.

Caspian's eyes, which had shut as memories swarmed his brain, snapped open again, looking around wildly. Alone.

It didn't make sense.

He hadn't noticed, hadn't paid attention really, despite knowing better. He should have been alert, should have become aware of his surroundings before anything else, as he had trained to do, instead of reminiscing pathetically like some snotty simpleminded dullard.

Quelling the reprimanding voice in his mind that sounded like Severus had done during his apprenticeship, Caspian brought himself shakily to a crouching position, looking round for signs of the ambushers. There were none.

_Homenem revelio!_ The spell was silent, so as not to alert anyone to his presence, but it was for nothing.

No one other than him was there.

Finches' body, as well as the other corpses, were gone too. It would not have surprised him, with what he knew of the ex-Death Eaters-turned Dark Vigilante group, that they would have taken Finch (and the others) back with them and had their fun desecrating his corpse, but they would hardly have left _him_ here, and certainly not alive. And it wasn't just the _Discipuli_ that were missing. There was no sign of the ambush anywhere.

At first glance, the scenery seemed as he remembered it. The grass long and wild, the small cluster of scraggly trees providing minimal cover, and the ring of stones Finch had pronounced to be an old well. That, however, was the end of it. Save the blood and filth on his robes, no sign of the struggle, or of his and Finches' camping ground, remained. Even the campfire was gone. It had been a wreck when he last laid eyes on it, wood and ashes scattered in the fight, but the charcoal-stained stones used to cook their evening meal had still been there, albeit smashed to pieces by some stray spell. They weren't there now, full green grass growing proudly in their place.

As for the trees, even they were not right. The clumsy attempts at the _kustiri "_concealment" and _havenos "shelter"_ wards he'd painstakingly carved out in their bark on Finches' instructions were nowhere to be seen, the bark blank of anything but moss. Having had particular trouble with them, his uneven scratches still unequal ,after several hours' practice, to the precision and mastery required for magic to infuse them, he could hardly have imagined them.

_What the hell was going on?_

He waved his wand gently in the air, silvery blue letter forming in answer to his silent _Locator_.

_Achlyst Forest, Devon, England_

The confirmation he hadn't moved did nothing to quell Caspian's puzzlement.

As he cat his _Tempus,_ a second line of smoky lettering settled underneath the first.

_August 1__st__ 1985, 11:35_

Despite the excruciating pain, Caspian felt himself go entirely numb.


	2. Bk 1 New Game Ch1 Goblin Friend (RW)

**Chapter 1 Goblin Friend (REWRITE)**

_Saturday August 12__th __1985, 8:00 Diagon Alley_

Just as the clock overlooking Gringott's entrance struck the hour, a tall, slim figure in a dark worn travelling cloak appeared out of nowhere, apparating not more than five feet away from the Bank's bottommost stair. He took the steps two at a time, heading straight for the grand double doors flanked by wary looking Goblin guards. Ignoring the suspicious looks they sent his way, and startling them with a curt nod each, he headed swiftly in. There, a short pause of his rapid steps let him take in the formidable Hall; rows and rows of high-seated counters just visible beyond the high-vaulted archway that dominated the ceiling where small clusters of _Wandcarriers_ were already waiting for their turn with the Goblins. Probably Alley merchants running last minute errands before their Businesses opened for the day.

He glanced briefly upwards as he passed beneath the arch, reading the familiar poem with a fond smile on his face, reveling in the slight tingle in his spine as the wards automatically updated themselves. The brilliancy of such a security system never failed to amaze him no matter how many times he was confronted with it. He bypassed the lengthening queues than, directing his footsteps firmly to one of more secluded booths on the far right, mentally bracing himself for the first crucial step in his plan.

_It had taken a long time for Caspian to assimilate the reality his Tempus spell had left him with. It had taken him even longer to stop panicking. He had spent the last few days erring around the British countryside looking anywhere for a sign that his magic had been mistaken, but there had been no such sign. If anything, the things he had seen had confirmed it. The few cars that had passed him by had been considerably older models than what he Severus, Lysander had seen when last in town, and the farm he had raided for eggs (in exchange for a few pounds from his mokeskin pouch dropped in the hen coop) had relatively new machinery that had seemed too far removed from the ultra-sophisticated tractor they had bought Arthur all that time ago, before Harry Potter had disappeared._

_No, this was not 2005. Even taking magic into consideration,__ stealing eggs from that hencoop had been ridiculously easy: there had been no technologically-advanced muggle security systems to dismantle._

_So, with no idea how he had gotten there, and no idea how to return, Caspian had finally accepted the impossible, that he had been taken a full twenty years into the past, far beyond what any Ministry time-turner had ever managed. _

_He thought, rather miserably, that Finch, or Dumbledore even, had they been alive would probably had had all the answers (however many riddles it took to share them). He even considered Severus, though his former Master would most probably just have called him a dunderhead for getting into this situation in the first place. It was at this moment in his self-pitying rant - _He really had to stop indulging in those_-, while lamenting the fact that all these people with answers couldn't give them because they weren't there, that he realized the ridiculousness of his own musings. If he was in the past, twenty years before his time, all of them, not just those three, but everyone he had lost- _they were still alive_._

_The implications of the thought hit him like a freight train. _

_Okay so maybe he wouldn't go to Hermione for a book just yet, as she was probably, (however advanced in the activity) still learning to read, nor would he rush to the others, as they would not know who the hell he was, but the fact remained that they were alive. He could save them._

_True Gryffindor that he was at heart, all curiosity for the means of his arrival and thoughts to his departure vanished abruptl; a new, much more appealing goal now set in his mind. Call it his innate recklessness, his 'saving-people-thing', his infernal 'disregard for the rules' (the very laws of magic in this case), he would change it all._

_Of course, reality, in the voice of Severus Snape, kicked in sharply._

"Calm down you reckless Gryffindor fool! This has to be planned! Carefully! You can't just go blundering into things like you usually do."

_Caspian considered telling the voice to shove it, but he had to admit it had a point. He needed a carefully thought-out plan, as well as the resources to carry it out. _

_Money. Status. Credibility. All three were vital if he wanted to get anything done. If he wanted to get anywhere, not just with Voldemort, but with the Ministry, with the very structure of British Wizarding society, his influence had to be big enough to stop pretentious snobby bigots like Lucius Malfoy from doing away with him as they pleased. _

_He smiled. It looked like he had his work cut out for him._

The goblin he now stood in front of had not been serving any wizards at this early hour of the day, had and was therefore occupied in what seemed to be the accounting of quite a few careful stacks of galleons. The sneer he was met with as he coughed to make himself known was hardly an auspicious start, but he was gratified to see it disappeared when he presented his right hand. The Goblin's gaze was caught, as he had known it would be, by the two rings that adorned it. Not leaving him the time to recuperate from his all too evident shock, he lowered his spine in a formal half-bow, completing his salutation with an address spoken in his listener's own language.

"_Greetings Master Goblin. Urgent business brings me to your Halls. I would wish to claim ownership of my Family vaults, that Gold may flow steadily between us once more."_

An assessing look met Caspian then, which the Goblin kept as he signaled, without turning, to one of the alcoves, where a couple of Goblin guards stood. Caspian was surprised to find one was a younger Griphook, the first Goblin he had ever met_ and the first one who taught me to be careful in my dealings with them._

A few phrases were exchanged in harsh guttural tones, too rapid for the young wizard to comprehend with his rather basic Gobbledegook, but at the end of it, the first Goblin's assessing look was mirrored by Griphook and his companion, before they both gave him a brisk nod, the latter turning suddenly and heading away.

"_You may follow him wizard, and state your business before our Council_."

Not confident his guide would stop to wait for him, Caspian strode forward behind him, Griphook falling into place behind him. Caspian had known the Goblin seal would have as strong if not stronger an impact than his heir ring on the Banker-race, and very hopefully guarantee him an audience with an account manager, but he had not dreamed of being inducted before the council so easily. This could still come and bite him in the arse though. Deals with Goblins were not an enterprise to be taken lightly.

You never knew what to expect with Goblins, they were careful, and crafty, and did not offer second chances gladly. _More wily than any wizard I've ever met, whatever Ly might have had to say about it._

A small smile lit his face despite his current apprehension. It had been a long debate between Lysander and himself, who had been insulted that a non-human could be believed to surpass a human, much less a _Wizard_, in anything. He shook his head slightly as they reached the entrance to what was evidently the Council hall. Even after most of the prejudices his father had drilled in him had been erased, Lysander had remained relatively close minded on the subject of Goblins. And Centaurs. And Elves….

The foremost goblin's knock resounded loudly on the door. He was admitted in a moment later, leaving Caspian outside with Griphook to wait. Forcing himself not to wonder what was going on inside, Caspian tried to focus instead on the task at hand, hoping his companion could not hear his shaky breathing. If this worked out well …Goblins were formidable; both as allies and as foes, and he knew his plans had a much better chance of success with their support than without it.

"_The elders will see you now."_

He did not how long he had stood there, lost in musings of what this meeting could bring, and what the next step in each possible outcome should be, when the first guard returned, pulling him from his thoughts.

As confidently as he could, he headed inside, affording once last curt nod of his head to each guard before the door clicked firmly shut behind him.

As he had already twice before, Caspian found himself looking up at a large table set on risen platform a few metres before him, where twelve goblins sat silently, all staring at him fixedly.

"_You claim to have business with us, Wandcarrier."_

Caspian took the Gobbledegokkan address as the challenge it was, and repeating his half-bow from the entrance Hall, answered it accordingly, taking as much care as possible with his accented pronounciation.

"_Goblin Elders, I Lord Caspian Ignotus Peverell of the Ancient and Noble House of_ _Peverell_, _Friend of the Goblin Nation, do seek audience concerning the urgent restitution of my estate and titles, and rightful place as Lord of my House_."

He had presented his right hand as before while he spoke, once again feeling the gazes falling on his rings. It was the centre-figure, that Caspian recognized as a Gornuk, who spoke next.

"_You speak our language well for a human, Wandcarrier. Few of your race afford us the courtesy nowadays. Respect such as you have shown us today is rare from Wizardkind. Yet we know naught of your claim." _His gaze grew hard, piercing Caspian to the core. "_The Peverell line is ended, broken centuries ago, its seat of Lordship never to be filled again. The ring you carry on the fourth finger of your right hand has no place but in the Peverell vaults. Yet Magic has allowed it. Stranger still is your claim of Friendship between us, when the lasttrus Goblin Friend lived long before the breakout of conflict between our communities over a millennia ago. Yet again, Magic has allowed it. Before we grant your request, the Council beseeches you to explain._

Caspian nodded solemnly. "_Were my tale not inconceivable, I would explain myself. As it is, I fear any explanations would deepen rather than alleviate your suspicions_."

Gornuk's answering frown was mirrored around the table.

"_ Therefore I ask that Magic justify me."_

"_You would submit to the Trial of Blood." _It sounded more like a challenge than a question.

"_If needed t__o prove my claims, than I shall."_

Gornuk's stony viasge turned to his neighbor in silent askance, and receiving a nod in return, focused himself once more on Caspian.

"_The Council grants the Trial."_

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture to an as dignified one as possible, Caspian carefully lifted his muscled arms to his head and let his slender fingers pull down his hood, undoing his clasp to pull the garment off. The silk finery of his formal Mastery attire emerged, complete with the Peverell coat of arms on the back, as well as the intertwined threads of navy blue, silver and bronze which snaked on the ridge of the collar and cuffs of the sleeves. Slightly higher than the cuffs, on each side respectively, appeared the stitchings of the Crossed Wand and Dagger circled by a black sash on the right, and the Golden Scroll on the left, this time bound together by a sash of creamy white. From the opening of his outer robe, one could also just discern his ornate belt, red and black for his Defense Mastery and entwined gold and white for his Runes' Apprenticeship.

A chest was placed before Gornuk, who, opening it, took out a silver knife from its confines even as Caspian advanced, presenting his barred right forearm forward, the Defense Insignia just visible in the hollow of his wrist.

Gornuk lifted the dagger carefully, taking it to Caspian's advanced limb and, with as much ease as if he were slicing through butter, started carving into the skin. Watching as his name appeared in an elegant script of glistening red along the length of his forearm, Caspian bit down his pain, forcing himself to stay calm and silent. The blood seeping from the cuts seemed to vanish as quickly as it came, apparently sucked into the knife. When the entire name was etched into the skin, Gornuk raised it again and stepped backward, turning to the table where the remaining goblins still sat. Before the open chest in front of his chair, a blank scroll of parchment had been laid out, the centre of which Gornuk promptly stabbed with the dagger as he sat down.

A strangled gasp overcame Caspian's struggle for silence, falling to the ground as he clutched his ailing right limb.

White light shone from the parchment as blood seeped onto it, flowing at an alarming rate to form blurry indiscernible shapes. Gradually these shifted; thinning and lengthening, stilling at last in a replica of the elegant yet eerie script Gornuk had carved on Caspian earlier. The gleaming ruby words read:

_Caspian Ignotus Peverell, Last male heir and Lord of the Ancient and Noble House Peverell through blood and conquest._

_Eligible steward of the Noble House of Potter_

_Born Hadrian James Potter 31 July 1980_

_Sired by James Henry Potter_

_Bourn by Lily Mary Potter nee Evans_

_Guardian of Death's Hallows, 2 May 1998_

_Kestrel Animagus November 28 1998_

_Goblin Friend April 16 2002_

_Master of Defense January 15 2004_

_Apprentice in the Runic Arts January 20 2004 _

_Attuned in Parselmagic June 7 2005_

_So Magic recognizes. _

"_So mote be it."_

Gornuk turned his attention from the coat of arms tattooed onto the parchment to the wizard on the floor, and said, this time in English "You should rise, Lord Peverell, we have business to discuss."

The Council Hall and the eleven other Goblins had been left behind. Caspian knew that if he hadn't been so weary, he would better appreciate the honour of having his affairs handled by Gringott's Chief Elder but the magical strain the Trial had caused him prevented him from doing so. Caspian's current gratitude did not extend much further than the chair Gornuk pointed him to, into which he barely restrained from sagging. He had read, of course of Trials by Blood, it was something that had come up when they were preparing for Umbridge's trial after the war, but had not expected quite that extent of a toll on himself. Hermione had been looking for information on Blood Quills when the following paragraph had caught his eye. The text had made it clear that Magic pulled on the challenger's own power to justify his claims, many not being able to withstand the impact it could have on a weaker core. It was why, despite the incontrovertible proof it could give as to a wizard's identity or lineage, relatively few undertook it freely, out of fear of being deemed too week despite claim of Blood. Famously, in 1287, Ormund Sykes had fallen into a coma after such a Trial, only to find upon awakening that his first cousin Elphias had taken the opportunity to steal his inheritance, claiming Magic would not have put him to sleep if it had been in his favour.

"You seem to be holding up better than most, Lord Peverell." Gornuk glanced at the Bloodscript parchment before him before looking Caspian straight in the eyes,"Or should I address you as Lord Potter?"

There was something slightly mocking if not accusing in his tone, and Caspian's weary body tensed, a scowl marring his features.

"No. I am not Lord Potter. No one is, nor will be, I believe, for quite some time. The current scion will not be able to claim the title before he is of age, in some twelve years' time."

Gornuk's stare still penetrated Caspian's own gaze.

"But what will happen then, when young Hadrian Potter comes of age, and finds there is someone there to take his birthright? Though we both know it is not the case, your parentage states you brothers, with you undeniably the elder, and therefore Heir to the Potter heritage."

"The only House I have claim to is the Peverell one. I renounced any claims to House Potter and its Lordship years ago, for reasons of my own, but that renunciation still holds. The existence of Hadrian James Potter only strengthens it. He is the rightful Heir to the Potter line and so he shall stay."

"But you _are_ Hadrian James Potter."

"We are not. Hadrian Potter might once have been who I _was_. But he is not who I am, nor who I have been for a long time. I am Caspian Ignotus Peverell. I do not have the pretense of taking from Hadrian James Potter-_the current one_- what is his. I did not come to Gringotts to steal my _brother_'s inheritance, as you put it. "

"Then you would still consider him a brother? As family? You do not renounce that tie along with your identity, your heritage?"

Caspian scoffed. "It is not a question of renouncing my heritage. He was born the scion of Potter House and so he is. As for him being family, I have no reason to deny it. The Peverell and Potter lines have always been linked and to relinquish that would be to renounce my blood. A brother would be too complicated to explain, but a cousin, or uncle, I could manage. "

Gornuk nodded, seeming to accept Caspian's reply. He then addressed him again.

"You are mistaken, anyhow, in saying you have no claim to any House but Peverell. The Potter and Peverell lines, as you rightly pointed out, have always been linked. Magic has named you the most eligible candidate of your brother's Stewardship until his coming of age.

Caspian's usually indiscernible face showed genuine surprise. "Stewardship?"

Gornuk's habitual sneer returned. "As indicated on the parchment." He pointed to the bloodscript he still held in his hand, extending it to Caspian. "Magic recognizes you, as Lord Peverell, as an eligible steward to the Potter Lordship with right of regency to it if no Potter is capable of filling their role as Lord of the House."

He pondered this for a minute. "What does this mean for me?"

"It mainly gives you the Potter vote in the Wizengammot and control of the Potter vaults."

"Excepting Hadrian's trust fund surely?"

"Indeed. In accordance to his parents' wishes, that remains set aside for his education with an added yearly allowance of fifty galleons on top of whatever he needs for his school supplies. Moreover, should you indeed take your place as steward, you would also be an eligible guardian to him."

Caspian frowned, "I thought that that responsibility fell to whoever the parents chose as Magical Guardian?"

"That would normally be true, but is far from a _fait accompli_ in this case. First off, the boy's Magical Guardian is indisposed, and likely to remain so indefinitely."

Caspian started. "Sirius. I thought prisoners were stripped of all assets when they went to Azkaban?"

"True, or at least partly. They lose all Ministry-controlled assets. Gringott's falls to our jurisdiction, over which the Ministry, despite what they would like, and do claim, have no control whatsoever."

"Which is why incarcerated Death Eaters still have their vaults full to the brim should they ever get out", Caspian muttered darkly.

Gornuk ignored the implied accusation, and continued. "Indeed, though the matter would be moot for Black in any case, as he was never actually convicted."

Caspian's eyes widened. "Of course. No trial. In cheating justice, the Ministry guaranteed Sirius would stay Magical Guardian. It would prevent anyone taking guardianship of me…."

"…unless they were deemed eligible because of blood ties, which is the only thing that has precedence over a godparent."

"Which is why Dumbledore put me with my aunt. But no one realized that Sirius was still my Magical Guardian. That he is still Harry's guardian right now. I always wondered why they never tried to make me a ward of the Ministry. Magic wouldn't let them." He looked inquiringly at Gornuk. "That still doesn't explain where I come in now. We've already established Harry was placed at the Dursley's for the blood protection afforded by Petunia's tie to Lily. Indeed that protection is made all the stronger by the sacrifice Lily made for Harry to live. It was precisely what Dumbledore was banking on when he placed Harry there. How could I challenge that?"

"Two things. The first is that your very existence offers a greater protection than the one Dumbledore established through your aunt. Your blood, which encapsulates not only your relation to Lily Potter and the sacrifice she made for _both_ of you but also carries your Father's blood, also strengthens the protection with magic. You share closer ties with young Potter than muggle Petunia Dursley ever could. Indeed, the blood that flows through both your veins, while no longer identical, is unique in its similarity, making you closer relatives to each other than even your own parents. However much you may dissociate your identity from the Potter boy, you are uniquely tied; two sides of the same coin."

Caspian frowned, but did not interrupt as Gornuk went on, "The second is quite simply that however much her blood protection does protect Mr. Potter, Petunia Dursley could never become the boy's Magical Guardian. The only thing that could displace Black would be a ruling of Magic against him."

"Meaning?"

"That the Potter scion's guardianship could change hands if Magic deemed a more worthy Guardian existed."

Caspian looked at Gornuk searchingly. "And you claim Magic has selected me, over Sirius' custody?"

"Yes. Magic no doubt accepts you as the closest living relative Hadrian Potter has, taking precedent over a neglectful custodian."

"He wasn't neglectful!" Caspian cried out, in immediate defense of his once godfather "He got thrown in prison, unjustly I might add, framed by the stupid rat he was only going after in the first place because he thought I would be safer with Dumbledore, and therefore with Hagrid."

Harry, and after him Caspian, had long ago come to terms with Sirius leaving him to the half-giant all those years ago. As ill-judged and reckless as his actions had been, he had thought to be acting for the best in the whole affair. Placing his godson in what he estimated was the best chance at safety, what else would a grieving and very reckless Sirius then do, but run off for revenge? It had been the only thing left for him. And Sirius had truly believed Dumbledore to know best. For that Caspian could not criticize him. He too had once believed Dumbledore to be flawless, and overconfidence in Dumbledore was something Sirius had paid for fort the next twelve years in Azkaban. _And afterwards at Grimmauld Place._

Caspian paused in thought for a moment, breath ragged in agitation, his thoughts turning to his former Headmaster. Of course the Headmaster would have thought his –Harry's- last chance lay with Petunia. He believed Sirius to be the traitor, and made a quick decision to place his trust in the blood of Lily's sacrifice. He snorted. Protection. As if. Yes, it had enabled him to survive. Barely. But just to survive, not to live.

Gornuk scowled again. "That is neither here nor there. Whether through his own fault or the stupidity of other wizards, Magic recognizes that the current Guardian is absent, and you are more than qualified to replace him." His scowl turned to a smirk. "So will you? Do you wish to claim the boy as your own?"

Caspian pondered the proposition. "The protection would remain, if not be strengthened, you said so yourself." He nodded to himself. "He would be happier too. Have the family the Dursleys never were. And he won't have to be thrust unprepared into the Magical World as I was, while also somehow expected to save it." He scowled. "I could rectify quite a few things in that respect. Prepare him properly. Treat him like a person as I wanted to be, instead of coddled like a four year old toddler. Many mistakes made last time derived from people seeking to protect me from things the ignorance of which endangered lives."

"But isn't that what you intended, when you returned" accused Gornuk "some noble attempt to set things right because you were unsatisfied with your lot in life?"

Caspian scowled right back. "I did not return from my time by choice Gornuk. I arrived here through unknown means twelve days ago, on my twenty-fifth birthday during a raid in which the Runes Master I was apprenticed to was killed. I have tried to go back, and cannot, not by any knowledge I possess. "

He met Gornuk's steely gaze once more. "So why not take advantage of the situation as it is. You sneer at me and call it foolish nobility, but if I am unable to leave, why should I not improve a few things along the way?"

He focused on the Goblin again and straightened himself. This was not how he had intended to do this, but this opportunity was as good as any. "Which brings me to something else. I will need help, probably a good deal of it. You have seen the Goblin seal, and know I could not wear it if it had not been given to me willingly, yet you did not bestow it yourself. I am not foolish enough to just expect you to trust a wizard without additional cost. What price would you place on such an alliance? I might one day have gained it freely, but that future has been scattered in the wind like dust in a desert storm, and what happened once won't necessarily again."

Gornuk nodded in agreement, but his expression was not a sneering one, which Caspian took as a positive sign.

"You are correct. We Goblins have little love of Wizards, and even less trust."

Caspian's stomach dropped. "Nevertheless," Gornuk continued, "you are an unusual wizard Peverell. As I have already said, few of your kind show us even the level of respect you have granted us today, including most of those that work among us. You are also correct in your estimation that I hold only limited value for your Goblin seal, as I did not myself grant it you, but I will say this; should I one day believe a wizard to be deserving of a Goblin Friendship, I would not be surprised it should be you. Therefore consider, that while I will not grant you an alliance as of yet, I will agree to partner in any endeavours which might benefit us both."

Which meant endeavours that would benefit Goblins first and foremost, Caspian knew, but the offer was already much better than he could rationally have hoped for. He nodded, and the matter was closed.

"I suppose you will now want to settle your House Management and accounts?"

Caspian nodded "Yes. As the Trial validated my claim, I should like to visit my Vaults, as well as the Potter one I suppose, to collect the Potter Family and Heir rings. I would appreciate detailed accountings for both."

"I can have you taken down immediately, and draw up the reports for your return", Gornuk assured, "I suppose you would like the guardianship papers for Mr. Potter to be made up as well?"

Caspian nodded. "Yes, if you can. Anything I can avoid doing through the Ministry would be appreciated. Which reminds me that I'll need to get my masteries recognized somehow, not least because I should like to complete my second Mastery."

Gornuk nodded. "That shouldn't pose a problem. The Trial attested to both your completed Defense Mastery and incomplete Runes' Apprenticeship, so we'll have no problem setting up the proper documentation with the Ministry. With Magic's validation, they would have no grounds to reject them. I suppose you'd like an application for a Runes Master to be added to that?"

"Yes, that would be perfect. The sooner I get it out of the way, the sooner I can focus on other things," he thought back to the discisions of the morning, "and on Hadrian."


	3. Ch2Frustrations of a Young Potions (RW)

**REWRITTEN**

**Chapter 2 Frustrations of a young Potions Master**

_Saturday August 12__th __1985, 11:35 Knockturn Alley_

A few streets away from Gringotts and the business dealings of the new Head of House Peverell, another wizard was attempting, in a growing state of frustration, to complete his own. Sleek black hair falling on the sallow features of his face, Severus Snape's expression was drawn up in one of extreme annoyance as he stormed out of Miriander's apothecary in Knockturn Alley.

Summer was usually one of Snape's preferred times of year, due to the reprieve it afforded from the near constant entourage of witless students, and the considerably liberated schedule that could be dedicated to personal research. Unfortunately, the last few weeks had brought that research to an aggravating halt.

_Out of Stock. Out of stock! What was the point of having a supplier in rare potion ingredients if he was always out of stock?_ It was the third time this month that he had gone to Miriander's, and the third time he had turned back empty-handed. He was on his last nerve. The private supplier, despite (or perhaps because of) its location in the darkly reputed Knockturn Alley, was generally good at providing the scarcest of ingredients -or had been. Snape had been disappointed too often of late; perhaps it was time to look elsewhere.

Snape, like any proper Potions' Master, relied on his own talents to collect ingredients, resorting to apothecaries in only two situations. The first, that the required ingredients were common and/or cheap enough that they could easily be ordered in bulk, and were not worth the effort or the time of seeking out himself. The slightly more expensive of these, bought in large orders of primary goods only demanded preparation and storage; perfect detention fodder for punished students during the Hogwarts schoolyear. The second situation arose when the requisite ingredients were such that he had no practical way of finding them on his own or in sufficient quality; those for which expeditions usually turned out to be a completely wasted effort. Runespoor venom and Coatl fangs were among these, as well as his current source of grievance with Miriander's. Snake parts in Potion brewing often posed problems, the most common of them already being hard to come by in the average potioneer's store. Snape's research, the continuation of the work started during his Mastery, unfortunately demanded an ever increasing variety and amount of these parts.

Snape mentally sneered at the prospect of more research time sacrificed to finding an adequate replacement for the Knockturn Alley shop.

He huffed impatiently as his steps turned the corner leading back to Diagon, mind still centred on his compromised summer plans. His irritation was further exacerbated, moreover, by the unwelcome knowledge that in less than three weeks, the share of his schedule spared for his personal projects would dwindle again, as he went back to teaching the stupid dunderheads that supposedly constituted the future of Magical Britain. _Merlin have mercy._

His free time would be further decreased this year by his taking on the position of Head of Slytherin in the place of newly-retired Professor Everworth. The former Arithmancy professor had been exceedingly old, and most agreed he had only gotten the job four years ago due to seniority and the fact that Snape, as the newest member of staff at the time, had not had enough teaching experience to handle the responsibility. Many had been of the opinion afterwards, Snape included, that Everworth had perhaps had _too much_. The arithmancer himself had received the position from Snape's own Head of House at Hogwarts, Horace Slughorn, who he had replaced as the school's Potions professor. Snape supposed that Slughorn had been efficient enough in his way, but decidedly much too involved in public relations and celebrity gossip than Snape could possibly care for. Whatever his own expectations for the job, he doubted he'd be anything like his two predecessors had been, much as his Potions lessons were nothing like Slughorn's either.

His plans for Slytherin aside, he still had no solution to his current problem. Determined not have his entire morning gone to waste, Snape turned toward Diagon Alley's general Apothecary, Slug and Jigger's, his seemingly futile quest abandoned for the time being. There he could at least finish his order for the student cupboard and the more common elements of his private stores, hopefully saving _some_ time later. Truth be told, his preparations for the new school year were usually completed by the first week of August, the hurdles met in his research once again responsible for the delay.

Small mercy, he noted upon arriving, that his horrid morning had at least been spared the meeting of any Hogwarts' students getting their own supplies, though by his calculations they should only receive their lists in a day or two. Consequently at leisure to roam the shop unperturbed by squabbling teens for anything that might be of use, he quickly fashioned a list of all that was required for the storekeeper, before examining the rest of the merchandise carefully.

Taking his time in his exploration, having just selected two steel cauldrons and a solid gold one that might well prove invaluable one day, he was about to start perusing the ceramic knives, when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It did not immediately dawn on Snape what had caught his eye in the figure that had just entered, but Snape was a canny enough observer to know that if something had captured his notice, there was probably a reason behind it. Taking care to bring as little attention to himself as possible, Snape focused on his target, observing him carefully from head to toe.

It was a young man, unknown to Snape, but of approximately the same age, and whose entire posture, as well as attire, testified to both considerable status and power.

Ever the spy, Snape carefully followed his progression through the room, watchfully tracking his movements in the corner of his eye while still seeming to focus on the tools before him.

The angle at which he stood, a little off to the man's left, offered him a view first and foremost of silky black hair, slightly longer than his own, neatly tied back in a clasp and coming to rest lightly on the nape of the man's neck. His face was fair, shadowed by at least two faint scars from what Snape could make out, the most prominent cutting diagonally from his forehead to the corner of his left eyebrow and finishing mere millimeters from the corner of his left eye. The other, smaller, just discernible in the drop of his chin, ran parallel to his jaw line. Too faint to be considered disfiguring, yet clear enough to call attention to them, they did not diminish his handsomeness, but rather gave the entire figure an air of experience and survival. By far the most defining feature of this face however, even more so than the fair skin, pale scars or even soft lips, was unquestionably the deep soulful eye Snape could make out, composedly studying the shelves of ingredients hung about the walls. Though only able to see one clearly, Snape was struck by its the deep swirl of colours, ranging from luxurious emerald green to rich sparkling silver. _They seemed slightly famililiar somehow_.

The real surprise-and what Snape immediately knew was what had captured his eye, came when he focused on the man's apparel.

He was dressed in what was unmistakably the formal attire of a Master, not something particularly exceptional in and of itself -though it spoke of well his dedication and skill- until you considered the Runes' Scroll insignia embroidered on his _left_ sleeve. Having only recently completed his own Mastery, Snape knew better than most that the insignia of one's _First_ Mastery- that of someone's primary chosen field- was always embroidered on the sleeve and tattooed on the wrist of one's _right _arm. It was strictly speaking possible, but certainly practically unheard of, for someone so young (_he couldn't be that far off from Severus' own age surely?_) to already be attaining a second Mastery. The embroidered sash that tied the scroll was white of course, which at least confirmed his object of interest was only an Apprentice in Runes, but that only begged the question of what his completed Mastery was. The most common associations with Runes would dictate History or perhaps Charms if he were a warder…

As if to answer his quandary, the man turned slightly, reaching out to examine a standard level 2 cutting stone, the belt of his robes now visible beneath his outer garment. Entwined gold and white, as expected, but also… _Surely not._ Red and Black. His gaze went frantically from the belt to the young face, to the cloak's now unhidden right sleeve in complete disbelief. As inconceivable as it seemed, there it was, unmistakable, next to an inlay of silver, blue, and bronze threads: the Crossed Dagger and Wand stitching of Defensive Magical Arts, with the black sash of an accomplished Master. All thought of the Runes' Apprenticeship was lost in pure shock.

Now all the more determined to discover all he could on this mysterious character, Snape headed confidently to the rack of wooden stirrers stood near him, and found himself now with a full view of the stranger's back. The Coat of Arms which covered its expanse only posed another riddle, for though it harkened to others of great Wizarding Houses Snape was familiar with (given the importance of pedigree in Slytherin), he was sure he had never seen it before. The hands too, previously covered by the long sleeves of the rich cloak, were now conveniently folded behind his back, giving enough view of his right one to make out the Lordship ring on his fourth finger.

Seeing his quarry head for the door to leave, Snape quickly hurried to the counter to pay for his order, in the hope of catching the man before he disappeared.

Pausing slightly as he crossed the threshold, he turned his head back to address the old manager. "The man that just left, the one that made no purchases, did you know him?"

The shopkeeper's answering apologetic expression predicted the verbal reply. "No Master Snape. Didn't give 'is name when 'e was in, and this was definitely the first I'd seen of 'Im. We don't get much of the upper folk 'ere to tell you the truth, 'xcept Lord Malfoy once in a while, but even then, 's an elf more often than not."

Snape nodded, disappointed. "All right then. But keep an eye out, should he return."

Snape quitted the apothecary to the respectful nod of acceptance that was given him, looking left and right for the tell-tale sign of the mastery robes. He had not expected the mysterious Lord to get very far, especially as the streets were now crowded, but wherever he turned, there was nothing to be seen. Supposing and rather hoping his target might have made for one of the numerous shops in the Alley, he hurried by _Flourish and Blotts_, _Madam Malkins_, and _Eeylops Owl Emporium _before giving up the search as vain. It was only when he entered the Leaky Cauldron as a last resort, cursing his debilitating delay, that his efforts met with any results, and even then, not those hoped for.

"Severus. What a pleasant surprise."

The familiar drawling voice came from behind him as he stepped up to ask Tom for any information he might have. Enquiry interrupted, Snape turned around to be met with none other than Lucius Malfoy. The Head of House Malfoy stood before him, platinum blond hair descending smoothly down his back, ornate serpent topped cane (concealing his sheathed wand) in his right hand, and the same self-satisfied air of wealth and contempt for all lesser beings he always had written proudly across his features. Snape bit back his groan and let show his signature smirk before returning the greeting.

"Lucius", he bowed his head slightly in what the arrogant Lord would interpret as a show of respect. Pandering to Malfoy with these slight gestures cost little, and enabled staying in his good books. Malfoy's smile as he signaled to Tom for a private booth proved him right.

"What brings you to the Alley, my friend? Not a rendez-vous with Firewhisky at this hour, surely?"

Snape shook his head, quickly weighing how much he should share with the former Death Eater, but deemed that rumours of a new player in the game- an unknown Lord with a double Mastery( or very near one)- were bound to circulate soon enough, and it might be preferable to be the source of anything Lucius were to hear. The conceited aristocrat might even prove a valuable source of information himself.

"I visited Knockturn in search of some rather delicate ingredients I need, but my fool supplier is still out of stock." He scowled at the memory of his failed morning excursion to _Miriander's_.

Lucius scrutinized him carefully. "You could have come to me. Thankfully, the Malfoy name does not yet count for nothing, and I…"

Snape, in no mood to have pureblood superiority thrust in his face, interrupted him. "I appreciate it Lucius, but it would serve for naught. These are not the kind of ingredients a name-even as reputed as the Malfoy one- can buy." Malfoy nodded curtly, but Snape could tell he had been stung by the lack of faith in what his name could do.

"It is a case of having the right suppliers," he explained, " and you will agree, I hope, that I remain the best informed of your acquaintances in Potion-related matters." The slight lift of his eyebrow in challenge was all Snape needed to do for the customary smirk to reappear, Malfoy's ruffled feathers now all back in place._ He's worse than those damn peacocks he has roaming about in Wiltshire._

"Too true, Severus. No other can boast being a Potions Master so young, nor teaching at one of the finest institutions the Wizarding World has to offer."

Snape scowled. "That's all very well in theory, Lucius. But I'll have you consider," he said in a slightly bitter tone, "that for a few adequate students, Hogwarts provides an endless number of dunderheads to whom teaching Potions, however fine the institution, is nothing short of unbearable."

Lucius' smirk widened. "I have every confidence, Severus, that if anyone can make something of them, you will. The Slytherins at the very least. I heard about your promotion. Draco will be thrilled to have a proper Head of House when he comes to Hogwarts."

Snape nodded. "Yes, I hope to bring Slytherin back to its once celebrated glory. We won the House Cup for the first time in years last term, but even then it was barely a scrape past Ravenclaw."

"I have no fears you'll do anything but uphold the House's honour." His expression dimmed. "Even with that mudblood-lover in charge of the school. I hope _he_ isn't sending you after rare ingredients?"

"Merlin no. They are for personal research. Though I did pass by Diagon for the school's orders afterwards. It's what lead me here."

"Indeed?" Malfoy's look was enquiring.

"I was following someone, have been since I exited the apothecary on his tail about an hour ago, but he seems to have vanished. I came here to see if he'd passed through, but in all likeliness, he just apparated away."

Lucius appeared intrigued. "Who was it? Someone I'd know?"

"I don't believe so. I'd certainly never seen him, but he was obviously of some lineage, so you might have information I wouldn't be privy to." He turned in his seat to face Malfoy directly. "He carried a House ring, and an elaborate Coat of Arms adorning his outer cloak, but I failed to recognize it."

Lucius' interest redoubled. "A Lord? Truly? What was the Sigil, maybe I'd recognize it."

Snape shook his head in frustration. "A Griffon, taking flight. Holding a spear and a branch of some sort in its talons."

Lucius frowned. "That harkens of one of the Ancient Houses. Did you see the colours?"

It was Snape's turn to frown. "Blue I think. With silver I believe, or perhaps bronze."

"Blue and bronze. Perhaps a House affiliated to Ravenclaw? Is that all you know?"

Snape shook his head again. "No. I do not yet know much, but there is something more. He caught my attention initially because of his Mastery robes." He gave Lucius a hard look. "The Golden Scroll and the Dagger-crossed Wand."

Lucius' eyebrows rose in astonishment. "A Defense Apprentice? How old was he?"

"That's just it. He could not have been older than I am. But it was the other way around Lucius, the Apprenticeship was for Runes, and Mastery for Defense. I checked twice."

Lucius stared. "A fully qualified defense Master? In his mid twenties? With a second apprenticeship started? That's unheard of!"

"Precisely."

Lucius pondered for a moment. " Even if he'd completed his Mastery only recently, and just started his second, we'd have heard something. How is this possible?"

"I do not know, but in any case, it was something to look into."

"Which is why you came here."

"Indeed."

Snape's last reply was lost in Malfoy's loud call for the barkeeper, Tom coming quickly when he saw who had addressed him.

"Lord Malfoy, Professor Snape. How may I be of service?"

"Professor Snape was looking for an acquaintance he'd heard might've passed by earlier, and we were wondering if you'd seen him."

Tom nodded in understanding. "Lots of folk pass through but if you give me a general description, I might be able to help. Some people you remember better than others."

"Then I have no doubt you'll remember him if he was here," put in Snape curtly. "He is rather memorable."

"Very well gentlemen, I'll see if I can come up with anyone."

"He is slim, slightly over average height, with muscular build-but not overly so-, and well dressed. Dark Hunter green Cloak. Black hair, and emerald eyes."

"Fair skin, and a rich look about him?" enquired Tom searchingly.

"Yes. He's a Lord."

Tom nodded. "Aye, he passed through here just over an hour ago. Apparated out again, but he reserved a room for the night. Seems to have business in Diagon Alley in the morning, or so I supposed, because he asked for an early wakeup call. Didn't catch his name though. But you're welcome to check the registry, if you want to make sure it's him. Should I tell him you were looking for him?"

"No, No, we'll catch him tomorrow, I'm sure. I'll be back myself. We'll just check the registry now, to be certain it's him."

"Very well sirs." Tom led them to the left of the counter, laying out the thick Volume for them before returning to serve a client.

"Fives names have checked in in the hour before last, and I recognize four of them." Snape summarized, studying the page before him.

"Yes. Me too. And of those, Westerson and Pykes can barely hold a wand let alone manage a double mastery; while the other two combined have less money than Weasley. I suppose that leaves this C.I.P. individual, but it doesn't tell us who he is."

"It gives us further detail. And more to the point, it tells us where he's staying. I'll stay to pick up my orders tomorrow morning, see if I can find out anything more."

Malfoy acquiesced. "I must see the Minister for other matters but I can ask whether or not he knows anything."

Snape snorted. "Fudge? How that fool came into office I'll never know. Dear Merlin, Bagnold was fair enough, but Fudge! That buffoon won't tell you anything worth a Knut."

Lucius smirked "With that scandal around Crouch's son, there was no chance of him staying a favourite, and they filled the position with the first fool who presented himself. Which suits me very well I should think. I hardly think Crouch, with how much we despise each other, would be as easy to play as Cornelius Fudge."

Snape nodded in agreement. "You should see how he crawls after Dumbledore like a wounded puppy. It's truly quite pathetic."

With that, Lucius let out a last laugh of farewell before flooing out to Malfoy Manor, leaving Snape to consider all that had happened, and all that he had to tell Dumbledore. Maybe the Headmaster could elucidate the puzzle that was C. I.P.?


	4. Ch3 Of a little boy

**Chapter 3 Of a little boy **

Late afternoon on Privet Drive, Little Whinging in Surrey saw the usually empty outdoors of a Saturday evening disturbed by the slight form of a young boy, sitting on the edge of number four's front lawn, feet dropping onto the street in front of him. Having escaped his cousin Dudley and his best friend Piers, who had headed up to the former's room, Harry Potter had no inclination of risking their company by turning back to the house, and elected instead to bask a little longer in the gentle warmth of the summer air. The stifling heat of the earlier afternoon having cooled down to a more comfortable temperature, the young boy of five knew that he only had a short time to enjoy it before his Aunt came out screeching for him to go set the table.

He also knew, from hearing Dudley whining all morning to get permission, that Piers was staying over for the night, which promised nothing good for him as soon as he did venture inside. The first hurdle would be supper.

While the Dursleys had never gone out of their way to deprive Harry of food, barring the occasional missed meal in punishment for one perceived misdeed or other, he was conscious the fact he was hardly fed as much as the common five year old. That he was much less well fed than his cousin—not such a difficult feat in itself- was hardly surprising, as Harry was certain he'd very likely be larger than he was tall before reaching Secondary education , but he knew that the other children at school generally had more than him as well. It was this, and the fact he slept in the stuffy broom cupboard under the stairs that Harry felt explained his small height and scrawniness, which Dudley's gang never failed to mock him about.

But the food situation initially originated from the fact that Dudley saw no problem in taking as much as he wanted at home, or bullying what he wanted out of Harry's lunch at school, so that the latter was often left with much less than his fair share. And while not nearly as large as Dudley, Harry knew that Piers' presence here tonight practically guaranteed him an empty meal. He knew he definitely shouldn't expect his Aunt or Uncle to do anything about it, and so resigned himself to the situation. After all, they never had done anything, so why should that change now?

But even worse than the promise of a meal far from worthy of the weeding he had completed in the back garden two hours previously, was the promise of Piers staying with Dudley for the night. While the two bullies wouldn't be able to do anything to him when he was in his cupboard, he knew better than to expect anything other than hell in the morning. Aunt Petunia was sure to wake him up even earlier than was usual to make the eggs and toast, and Dudley's efforts in annoying him would surely only increase when given the full support and attention of his lieutenant. No, all in all, the night promised nothing good for Harry.

But in all his morose thoughts, Harry Potter remained totally oblivious, as were all the residents of number four, or indeed Privet Drive as a whole, to the two watchful eyes that had been surveying him for the duration of the afternoon. The two watchful eyes, that unknown him, promised to make Harry's night very good for him.

Up on the higher branches of the chestnut tree which shadowed part of the front garden, still and silent as he sat on his perch, was an observant kestrel, yellow eyes ever drawn towards the small mop of black hair below, lost in his contemplation of the hardships of life in the Dursley household. The small falcon had taken this position two hours ago, when Harry had taken his own, after having first surveyed him digging at the weeds in the back garden from a hidden ridge in the garden wall. His near completely brown plumage prevented him from being seen, and even a careful eye would easily have missed the blue-grey of his cap and tail feathers amidst the cover of fresh summer leaves. This, much to his satisfaction, offered him an optimum position to observe from without being seen, much as a tabby cat had sat and observed the same house many years previously. And much like that tabby had not really been a tabby at all, but a rather disgruntled witch, so this kestrel was not really a kestrel, but one Caspian Peverell, waiting for the right time to reveal himself.

He had been struck, upon seeing the young form of the boy he had once been, with the long abandoned weight of what that life had been like, in the days before Hogwarts and the wizarding world. A world free of Voldemort, yes, but one also in which he had no one, and in which his parents had been drunks that did not love him, instead of war heroes that had died to ensure he lived. That existence, although in the long run perhaps safer, had been only endurable for the past Harry, and he had no doubt that it was so for the current Harry as well. That he had the power, the possibility of saving his….cousin (he supposed) from the misery he had been subjected to full time for another six years, and then every summer before Hogwarts, made Caspian so happy he could shout for joy.

But for the moment he was waiting. He knew that Mrs. Figg had occasionally checked on him through the blinds of her kitchen window, and that he had a better chance of avoiding detection if he waited for Harry to go back inside, where Mrs. Figg would consider him out of trouble for the night.

Passing the wards had been no trouble at all, as he mainly shared the same blood with Harry, and he was reasonably confident that gaining access to the house wouldn't be a problem either. He also had no doubt that neither Hadrian nor the Dursleys would be sorry to have the little boy go. Sure of his success, or at least reasonably so, he could manage to wait a couple more minutes.

In fact it was ten minutes later when, at last, Caspian heard the familiar and unpleasant screech of his mother's sister, and was genuinely happy to hear it, for what was surely the first time in his life.

"You! Come inside! I need you to sweep the kitchen quickly before setting the table. Hurry up! And mind you don't get any dirt on my clean floor!"

As Harry heeded his Aunts words, a faint rustle was heard in the tree a few yards away, where the watchful kestrel had apparently disappeared in thin air, leaving in its place the regal figure of a black-haired youth in his mid-twenties. Casting a hurried disillusionment charm on himself, Caspian easily climbed down from his perch, and went to stand on the lowest step going up to the front door. There, still disillusioned, he carefully traced a slight variation of the _kustiri_ rune on the last step, before repeating the same process on the door. Satisfied, he cancelled the charm, knowing that anyone looking at the front steps of number four, or its front door when it opened, would see the door still closed and the steps empty. Turning around to cast temporary muggle and wizard repellant charms on the property, he adjusted the last touches to his appearance( his cloak becoming an elegant black spring long coat, and his robes morphing into a formal business suit) and knocked on the door.

He only had a minute to wait before the very boy he had been observing all afternoon opened it, stared at his impressive figure, and at his introduction, called his aunt to tell her he wished to speak with her.

And so it was that Caspian Peverell laid eyes on Petunia Dursley for the first time in over seven years. Harry disappeared as she arrived, and Caspian was left alone to face what was undoubtedly one of his least favourite people if not of all, then most assuredly in the muggle world.

"Yes?"

Her tone was irritated and bitter, and he knew that his presentation as a wizard wasn't going to make things much better.

"Mrs. Petunia Dursley, I presume?" , he enquired as politely as he could manage, stifling the urge to spit the words out in her face.

"Yes, what do you want? I'm busy….."

"Yes. I apologise for not coming at a more opportune time, but was incapable to do so due to unfortunate circumstances. I need to speak with you and your husband on a matter of the greatest urgency, but would rather not do so in the view of prying eyes." At these words he gestured vaguely at the street behind him, and he knew they would convince her. However much she enjoyed spying on others, Petunia Dursley did not like to be an object of scrutiny herself. Of course, she had no idea that should the neighbours be spying, the wards he had cast would prevent them from seeing anything.

"Yes of course, I'll get him immediately. Let me show you to the sitting room."

As he was led into the familiar room, while Petunia disappeared off to find Vernon, Caspian once more cast out charms with his wand, this time temporarily warding the room against the children in the house, so that they would be disinclined to enter, and desirous to ignore any conversation that might be going on in it until they were themselves invited inside.

Pocketing it once more, he placed his hands behind his back, turning his attention to the collection of family photos on the mantelpiece; all of them woefully void of a scrawny figure with messy black hair and glasses.

The sound of steps nearing the room made him turn around, just in time to see Petunia come in again, now accompanied by Vernon.

Not leaving him a chance to talk, Caspian started to explain. "Good evening sir. As I told your wife, I had to come here on a matter of urgent business." He paused, before facing Petunia. "I am, madam, the cousin of you deceased brother-in- law."

Petunia blanched at this, while Vernon's familiar purple complexion of rage slowly started to emerge. Before he could utter a single syllable however, Caspian raised his hand to him in a silencing gesture, and he found himself unable to speak.

"I have been out of the country for much of the last ten years, and was therefore unfortunately uninformed of my cousin's death or his son's placement with you until very recently. As James and I knew each other only briefly, I can very well understand how his placement with me was overlooked, but I am sure you can understand the appeal for him growing up in an environment matching his heritage."

"His heritage?" Petunia managed finally, expression caught somewhere between anger and horrified panic.

Caspian ignored this and continued easily. "Yes. His wizarding heritage." Both muggles would have though Caspian had just pronounced a particularly vile curseword, or perhaps confessed to being a psychotic axe murderer.

Petunia nearly fainted, and Vernon's face finally morphed from whitish-grey to puce, his horror turning into rage. He unfortunately seemed to recover his voice, which though still not managing a yell, was already a rather loud growl which was disagreeable enough to Caspian's ears.

"You're one of them aren't you? One of those Freaks? How dare you come in here and mention your abnormal…."

But once again, Caspian's hand cut him off. "Mr. Dursley, with all due respect, let me advise you to refrain from uttering such offensive discourse as you were just about to do. I can offer you the patience and respect you deserve as my host, but even I have my limits. You would do well not to try them." The tone was calm, yet the threat underneath it was clear. Vernon's rage redoubled and he was just about to retort when his wife laid a halting hand on his arm. Catching the stricken look on her ashen face, Vernon relented, grudgingly.

It was Petunia who spoke next. "You want…..you want to adopt the boy?"

Caspian nodded. "I want to take him as my ward yes." His expression turned cold and a frown graced his face as he gestured towards the mantelpiece pictures. "I am under no illusions regarding the feelings you bear the boy, nor the rest of 'our lot', and know that you could have no imaginable reticence in leaving him to me."

Petunia grew defensive. "We never asked for him! Dropped off in the middle of the night with that letter, when they knew very well we wanted nothing to do with the lot of you." Here she straightened, and sneering back at him added, "after all, I made my feelings clear to her quite enough times for it to have been hammered in. And we were right! Look where it led her, all that dangerous nonsense: blown up by another one of you freaks!"

Here Caspian swiftly reached for his wand, which was pointed a second later to Petunia's face.

"I do not make idle threats Mrs. Dursley. You would do well to heed the words I spoke to your husband. Lily Potter was a fantastic witch, and an even better mother, and I'll not have you shaming her memory because of your petty jealousies." At this Petunia flushed an angry red, while her hands started to shake.

"Now, I have papers for you to sign and I'd like a quick word with your nephew before I go. I'm going to file the papers tomorrow, and I'll be ready to pick him up Monday evening after school."

"Why can't you take the bloody freak with you now? As soon as both of you are gone won't be too soon if you ask me!" growled Vernon.

"Which is why no one is asking you, sir." Caspian replied with icy steel. "And though I would like nothing better than to take Harry tonight and never have him endure another day in your presence, I must file the papers first; lest I want to be accused of kidnapping. I would like to see Harry quickly tonight for this reason."

"All right. We'll sign your bloody papers, and we'll wait till Monday, but after that, I'm throwing him out whether you take him or not, he's not welcome here. I've had enough of the whole lot of you. Unnatural bunch of layabouts."

Caspian presented the papers, indicating the places where each had to sign, then folded them up carefully in his jacket as Vernon stormed out and Petunia fetched Harry.

She left as soon as they came, and Caspian's heart ached at the all-too transparent terror visible in the boy's face as he found himself alone with a stranger. Easing the atmosphere with a warm smile, and channeling Fawkes' magic from his wand as he fingered it in his coat pocket, he sent out a soothing wave of power from the polished holly which felt vaguely similar to the calming effects of phoenix song.

"Hello Harry."

Harry's countenance was already calmer, and his reply, though quietly spoken, was followed by a hesitant smile.

"Hullo sir. Aun' P'tunia said you wann'ed to talk to me 'bout somethin'?"

His speech stumbled slightly, as could be expected in that of a small boy just starting school, but apart from that, as well as the leftover nervousness, he was relatively composed, and of an exemplary politeness for one so young.

Caspian's own smile widened at this.

"Yes Harry. I've come to talk to you about something very important. Can you come here and sit so we chat?"

With an expression very like Dobby the house elf had had when he had asked him to sit down thirteen years in his own past, Harry stumbled out that he wasn't "s'pos'd to sit on anything in the sitting room, 'cause he'd get them dirty".

Caspian shook his head. "That's ridiculous, Harry. We're in the sitting room. Why would people call it that if you were meant to stay standing, hmm?"

Looking very dubious at Caspian's argument, yet not having an answer to give him, Harry eventually came forward, albeit extremely reluctantly, and clumsily pulled himself on to the edge of the couch.

"Now I don't suppose your aunt told you who I was?"

Harry shyly shook his head, biting his lip, as though expecting to be blamed for his state of ignorance.

Caspian placed a gentle hand on his arm, and after a brief tensing of the boys muscles, he relaxed, and let himself sink into the comforting touch. Good. Dudley's bullying and his father's more than occasional beatings had not yet affected Harry too deeply. Though now that Caspian thought about it, they hadn't escalated until he got older, worsening progressively as he neared Hogwarts' age. Thankful the most damaging years of his own childhood would be averted, he maintained his smile, and spoke to Harry in the gentlest voice he could manage, answering his own question himself.

"No worries, Harry, I can present myself. My name's Caspian. Caspian Peverell. Your father was my cousin."

Harry's eyes widened immediately, and the nervous expression turned to shock and wonder.

"My,…my father, sir?"

Caspian's expression turned into a mock stern one, and he shook his head at Harry. "No calling me sir Harry, please. It makes me feel old. Call me Caspian. Or Uncle Caz if that's what you prefer. Okay?"

"Yes si…;I mean, Uncle Caz"

"Good. Then we can talk about why I called you here. You see, when your mum and dad died; they brought you here to your relatives, because your aunt was your mum's sister. Now since I was your dad's cousin, that makes us relatives as well. Which means Harry, that if you want; you could come and live with me."

"Go…go live with you si…Uncle Caz?"

"Yes Harry. If that's what you want."

"Leave the Dursleys? Never come back?"

"Never come back."

Harry smiled widely, before his look of euphoria suddenly dropped.

"Why?"

Caspian frowned. "Why what?"

"Why do you wan' 'o take me home? The Dursleys never wan'ed me, and you didn' 'til today 'cause I've never seen you. So why do you want me now?" Harry practically spat out. He seemed to regret the words as soon as he said them though; covering his mouth desperately with both hands as if that would take them back. But Caspian took this all in his stride, once again sending the small boy a warm smile, while squeezing the shoulder in his hand reassuringly.

"It's not that I didn't want you Harry. I was away, away for a very long time, and I didn't come back until very recently. I didn't hear of your parent's death until very late, which is why I didn't come as quick as I'd have liked. I promise I'd have come sooner if I could have. You're my family; I wouldn't leave you if I could help it."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"So I can live with you?"

"Yes." He got out the papers again. "All you need to do is sign right here, with this." He pointed to the document and handed Harry the quill. "Will you have any trouble writing out your name?"

At Harry's indignant exclamation that he wasn't stupid (in fact he had learnt how to spell out his name some months previously), Caspian smiled even wider and handed him the quill. "Be careful, it's a little trickier with a quill. Just make sure you write out Hadrian James Potter instead of Harry, they need your full name."

"Hadrian?" asked the boy uncertainly.

Caspian smiled. He hadn't been made aware of his proper birth name until he had received his Diploma from Hogwarts months after the war. It had been written out to his full name, unlike the O.W.L. and preliminary N.E.W.T. results which had been sent out to Mr. H. J. Potter. While he'd used his more familiar name with friends and family, he'd been pleased to have a name which did not make him sound like a child.

"It's your full name. Harry is what your family and friends called you."

"Which is why you call me Harry?"

"Exactly."

"And James?"

Caspian frowned. He knew he had scarcely known anything about his parents before going to Hogwarts apart from their names, but he had completely forgotten that he hadn't even been aware of those until much later in his childhood. He had only found out his father's name when he was seven and had heard Petunia had cursing "that dratted James Potter" out loud." The fact that his father's first name was also his second one hadn't been discovered until Hogwarts.

"Yes. James Henry Potter. Your father. The Dursleys never told you much about your parents, did they?"

Caspian knew this was going to lead into dangerous territory, but he didn't want Harry to continue believing a lie. Harry shook his head gently.

"Well then. Why don't you tell me what you do know, and we'll go from there?"

Harry nodded slightly before saying, "I know Mum was Aun'P'tunia's littl'sister, and now you'v' told me Dad's name. All that they told me after that was that they died in a car crash when I was a baby 'cause they careless fools and that it got me this scar. He pulled away the bangs of his unruly hair and revealed the familiar scar which the addition of another in continuation of it on Caspian's face made unrecognizable. Said scar had also faded greatly after the destruction of the Horcrux within it during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Caspian shook his head. He hoped he managed to put this in a way that wouldn't be too emotionally traumatic for Harry, but he didn't want to lie to him either. "I'm sorry to say your Aunt and Uncle haven't been entirely honest with you Harry."

The questioning air he got in response was enough for him to continue. He wondered detachedly whether a five year old would prove easier to convince than an eleven year old. He took a deep breath. Here goes.

"What do you know about magic, Harry?"

Harry's eyes widened again, before he answered. "Uncle Vernon sais it doesn't exist. That it's a load of rubbish and that people who do tricks are nothing but scond'els trying to steal well earned money from respec'able hardworkin' men like him."

"Well, Vernon's wrong Harry, magic is real. And not just those tricks people do for shows or on Television, real magic, that witches and wizards can do."

"Wizards are real?" Harry asked amazed.

Caspian grinned. "They are. In fact, I'm a wizard myself and so were your parents." Here he took the hand away from Harry's shoulder and poked him gently in the chest. "So are you Harry."

If possible, Harry's eyes only went wider. "Me, si…Uncle Caz? But that's not possible. I don' have magic! I can't. If I did I….I…." Here Harry seemed to get rather desperate, and Caspian once again placed the soothing hand on his shoulder. "You're a wizard Harry, believe me. I couldn't believe it either when I was told, but believe me you are. Don't you remember strange things happening, which you might have gotten into trouble for, but couldn't explain?"

Harry gasped in realization, as Caspian knew he would. His accidental magic had become more frequent as he became older, as well as generally more powerful, but he knew five year old Harry had already spent more than one afternoon locked in his cupboard for 'freaky behaviour'.

"Dudley's t'ycicle, when he was learning how to ride. I wanted a go on it and he wouldn' let me, but when he went on just after, he lost control of the pedals and crashed into Mr. Ande'son's front garden. And Miss Ashbury's hair turned blue two months ago when she scolded me for the mess Dudley had made in the playroom. I was so mad….."

"That was your magic reacting." Caspian nodded, remembering both incidents very vaguely, as they had happened a very long time ago for him. "It's something normal for all young wizards before they go to school. Even sometimes afterwards." He laughed suddenly. "I had already finished my second year of school when I accidentally blew up someone like a balloon for badmouthing my parents.

Harry's eyes widened again.

"Did they 'xplode? And where'd you go to school to learn magic?"

Caspian chuckled. "I was mainly privately tutored, but you'll go to Hogwarts, like your parents. It's the principal school for Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain, just like Durmstrang in Scandanavia, and the Beauxbatons Academy of Magics in France. And no, she didn't explode, but I was happy about that really, because I'd have gotten in big trouble."

He grinned at Harry, who grinned back. Caspian's heart soared. A full faced grin. Harry's life was already taking a turn for the better.

"I wish I could blow up all the people that said mean stuff 'bout mum and dad" he said honestly, "then they'd leave me alone."

Caspian chuckled again. "I'm afraid you won't be learning to explode anything just yet child, and when you do I hardly think the Ministry of Magic would take too kindly to you doing it to people."

"Min'stry of Magic?"

"It's our government. There's the Minister for Magic, which is kind of like the Prime Minister, and then there are different departments within the Ministry, each with its own Head. Its main job is to keep the Magical world hidden from the non-magical one, which we call the Muggle world. Muggles are people that don't have magic." Harry nodded, taking this all in. Caspian hoped he was doing a better job at explaining this than Hagrid.

"So you're my uncle, and so you're 'dopting me, and you're a wizard, like mum and dad and I am. And one day I'll go to wizard school at Hogwhats because that's the main wizardry school in the country. And wizards have a gove'nment just like in the Mu...Muddle world." He raised his eyes to Caspian's in askance, and the latter let out a hearty laugh. "Muggle. People born without magic are called muggles and its Hogwarts, but apart from that Harry, your summary was quite satisfactory."

He beamed at the boy as he said this, who promptly blushed at the praise. That, thought Caspian wryly, was something that had never changed. He'd still flushed tomato red three years back when Lysander made a commendation of Caspian's dueling skills the first time he had beaten Severus .

His smile dimmed. Now was the hard part.

"There's something else I have to tell you Harry. You know how you were told your parents died? In a car crash?"

Harry nodded fearfully, wondering where this was going.

"That never happened." He sighed, not knowing how to start. He gave Harry a serious look. "Listen carefully to what I'm going to say, Harry, because this is really important, all right?"

At Harry's hasty nod, he started "What you have to understand, Harry, is that magic isn't all good. Just like there are good and bad things and people in the Muggle world, there are also good and bad wizards out there, some of whom aren't afraid to hurt others." Harry was nodding along to himself, with a serious look on his face, sensing that what he was being told was important.

"Now about fifteen years ago, there was this really bad wizard that started hurting a lot of people. His name was Voldemort. He'd spent years gathering followers and power in secret, but it was only then that he came out into the open. He started attacking people left and right. Wizard families, muggle families. Important people that he wanted to otherthrow." Harry's brow had furrowed in concentration as he strived not to miss a single word. "People became scared. Very scared. Scared enough that they no longer opposed him, did not even dare to say his name. But that only made things worse, because the more people hid in their fear, the less they were prepared to fight back. Now, there was a group of people who realized this, and they saw that if no one tried to stop him it would only get harder to stop him in the end. So they got together and worked to stop Voldemort as best they could. They tried to protect families that the he targeted, and to capture his followers to limit his powers. The problem is that Voldemort was still really strong. A lot of people were dying. Soon the fighting turned into a war. "

Harry nodded slowly, making connections. As much as a five year old could anyway.

"My mum and dad," he began slowly "they were with the fighters weren' they? They wanted to fight Voldawart?"

Caspian fought back a laugh at Harry's mispronunciation. This wasn't the time to joke. He nodded in answer to the question. "Yes. They helped fight Voldemort during the war with their friends. But then you were born and they didn't want to put you in danger. So when they found out that Voldemort was going after your family they decided to go into hiding. They were safe for a while but someone went to Voldemort and told him where you and your parents were."

"Some one 'trayed us?" Harry asked outrage. While dry of tears, his eyes seemed exceptionally bright, and his small limbs were shaking. Caspian reached over and gathered him in his arms, hugging the boy to himself while rubbing his back in a soothing motion. He had done the same for Teddy before his two year old godson had been killed, by the same bastard that had bitten his father. But Caspian had had his revenge. He had made sure of that. Maintaining the embrace; Caspian continued again, his voice softer, "Yes. They were betrayed. Voldemort found your family. Your parents tried to protect you but he was too strong and he killed them. But when Voldemort tried to kill you after , it didn' t work, he couldn't do it. The love from your mother's sacrifice stopped the curse from working, and threw it back to Voldemort instead."

"So he died? Voldywart? He's gone ?"

Caspian shook his head sadly. "I don't think so, Harry. No one knows for sure, because he disappeared. But I doubt it. He was obsessed with living forever, and I wouldn't put it past him to do whatever it took to stay alive. I think if he'd been dead there would have been a body, but only his cloak was left. No I think he's hiding out somewhere, biding his time, trying to get strong again."

Harry looked up in terror at the implications. "Do you think he will?"

Caspian looked at him dead on. His gaze held no false hopes, but neither did they hold despair.

"Harry, an old and wise wizard once told me, that evil is never destroyed, but simply kept at bay as long as there are still those willing to fight against it. However bad he is, Voldemort is smart, so I don't doubt he'll find a way." He lifted a gentle hand to quiet Harry's exclamation of panic. "However, even if Voldemort is smart, so are we. So that even when he comes back, there will be those that will be prepared to fight him just like your parents and so many others did before. I did not tell this to scare you needlessly, Harry, nor to give you the impression that all is lost." He squeezed the boy's shoulder again. "I did it because you need to understand. To know, that sometimes the world isn't a perfect place and that its hard work to make it better, like your parents did for you. Now you're still young, Harry, and you have your entire childhood ahead of you, and I don't want you to waste it worrying. Your parents wouldn't have wanted that. They would have wanted you to live. Live because that's the best way you can repay what they did for you. A lot of people would not understand. They would say that I should not tell you this, that you are too young to get it. And I know there are things we'll have to go over before you're older. But still, I had to tell you. You should know. You deserved to know what your parents died for. You needed to know."

Harry looked into the eyes of his newly discovered uncle, trying to make sense of all he had heard. He would be lying if he said he had understood everything, or if he said that none of it scared him. It did. Talking about death and mean men that destroyed families, it was scary. Especially for a five year old. But still, Harry was glad his Uncle had told him. After five years in which he'd had his fair share of hardships, first with the loss of his parents, and then with life at the Dursleys, Harry had been forced to develop a certain measure of wisdom that was beyond his years. He already knew only too well, mostly from experience, that some people weren't nearly as nice as others, and that people got hurt all too easily. And he knew from listening to Caspian that he would never take his parents' sacrifice lightly. That at least he had understood perfectly. They had died so he would live, so he would make sure he did just that. He would make them proud.

Harry nodded to Caspian once more, in something that could have been construed as acceptance. Hugging the older wizard's chest tightly from where he still sat in his lap, Harry asked "Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry they aren't here, and I wish they were, but at least I know why they can't be. " he hesitated slightly. "But I've got you Uncle Caz, right?

Caspian smiled. "Yes Harry, you do. I'll take care of you. Of the both of us. _And the rest of the wizarding world, apparently._ You'll see."


	5. Ch4 The Master and the Snake

**Chapter 4 The Master and the snake**

_Sunday August 13 1985, _circa 10:00,_ Diagon Alley _

Caspian was late for his appointment at the ministry, it was raining and he was getting increasingly pissed off with the wizard that was following him. Three grievances that were three too many to have so early on in the day, especially a Sunday, which made them all the more irritating. The first was due to the somewhat unexpected if rewarding extension of his meeting with Gornuk, wherein the Goblin, understanding Caspian was to register for his apprenticeship that same morning, supplied him with the name of a Gringotts employed Runes Master that also worked part time with the Ministry. Details for a purchase of a town house in London had also been made, as Peverell Park in Derbyshire had yet to be restored, and made for a better summer house than main residence.

The second, being the rain, could be no one's fault but the weather's and yet Caspian was sure the Fates were trying to spite him. The third however, was undoubtedly the most bothersome, and had it not been for the deep seated respect he had had for the man in his previous timeline, he would already have blown the Potions' master to smithereens.

Honestly did he have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning? Sleep? Brew?... Wash his hair?

Bracing himself for a third attempt at evading his former future mentor (that really did sound strange), Caspian ducked into a dead-end alleyway, and hastily disillusioned himself out of sight. Knowing that Severus was far from stupid and would think to cast a _Homenem Revelio, _the young Lord promptly transformed, still invisible, into his animagus form, and fluttered up to an uneven ledge protruding over the alley.

Sure enough, the familiar stealthy steps and black cloaked silhouette appeared a moment later, obviously puzzled by the sight of the empty alleyway.

Caspian smiled in spite of himself. He had missed Severus.

What had been the barely concealed and reciprocated hatred of seven years (twenty-six in Severus' case)had surprisingly, in light of discoveries made at the time of Voldemort's demise, turned into a grudging partnership, and eventually friendship. Severus had become Caspian's mentor, and while the abrasive personality, the cruel comments and the snarky attitude had never disappeared, they had simply become for Caspian part of who Severus was: an extremely brave man who had nearly been destroyed by his bitterness, and had never stopped punishing himself for it since. Forever working in the shadows as a means to return himself to the light. Severus had put it like that once, apparently quoting Dumbledore. He shook his head exasperatingly, it was an exceedingly Dumbledorish thing to say. And of course, it was true. And no one played that role better than Severus did. The perfect spy. Even if at the moment Caspian could have easily foregone that particular talent of his; evading the stalking efforts of a spy on a Sunday morning was exhausting, as well as non-conducive to reaching the ministry early.

Caspian mentally smirked as, like he had anticipated, Severus cast out the reveal spell. The familiar magic washed over him almost immediately, but did not provoke the same tingling sensation as it would have in his human form. Unlike the _Animagus revelio_ , the standard spell was incapable of detecting the humanity behind the animal. Still smirking, Caspian once again congratulated himself on coming up with this escape tactic. It had taken him weeks to successfully combine his transformation with a maintained disillusionment charm, but it had been worth the trouble. Despite Lysander's fit of laughter when the feet and wings of a semi-invisible avarian had hovered around their camp; this strategy had given him his first victorious duel against Snape, as well as many less friendly fights. Disillusionment, transformation, flying around his attacker, and cursing him from behind after transforming again. It was especially useful in cases where his opponent did not know he was an animagus. He'd also learnt to simulate the crack of a disapparation along with his disillusionment, which usually led to enemies letting their guard down, thinking he had fled.

In this instance, he was reasonably certain he'd managed to throw Snape off for good. The Slytherin might be a master at stealth, but he had yet to garner the experience Caspian had acquired from a very small age; childhood years spent sneaking food from the kitchen as well as an adolescence filled with dangerous escapades. Added to that was Caspian's knowledge of how Severus' mind worked, while the latter had yet to spend the next few years tracking the Gryffindor (if he even was in Gryffindor this time) around the halls of Hogwarts.

Taking one last look at Snape's frustrated face, the ghostly bird took off into the grey morning sky, gaining a bit of height before gliding easily through the air, the rain splashing his feathers. Might as well stay a bird for now, he thought, pondering that unlike apparating, it would enable him to remain untrackable, which had been a difficult feat with Snape on his tail. Swerving slightly to the right in midair, the young Kestrel's wings beat down swiftly in a few hurried movements before he let himself hover gently on the day's strong wind.

Snape tailing him, though bothersome, had not been the problem. Not really. True he had been quite affected yesterday, while in the apothecary, when he'd recognized the aura going in, as well as the disconcerting gaze of scrutiny that followed him throughout his visit. But once recovered from the unexpected meeting, if you could call it that, Caspian had to admit a Potions' master's presence in an apothecary was hardly that unexpected, and his interest at Caspian's mastery attire hardly surprising. He knew of course, that Snape must have at least started if not completed his Potions' mastery by now and could not fail to recognize Caspian's attire for what it was. Moreover, Snape had always been adept at collecting information, and naturally wouldn't have been able to resist finding out more once he had seen him.

Taking that in mind, he'd only received Tom's answer to his initial question with very mild exasperation.

"_Oh yes sir. Someone did indeed come asking for you, but said not to bother you when you came in."_

At that Caspian smiled somewhat grimly. So Snape had indeed been intrigued by him. Chances were he'd inform Dumbledore. _Damn. _That would inform the old coot much earlier than he'd planned. As for Snape's request to Tom, the professor would certainly not want to bring Caspian's attention to the fact he was being asked after. _Typical_. He could be thankful at least, that he had not been there when Snape had shown up. His expression had turned to a clear frown however, at Tom's next words.

"_They seemed to think they'd be sure to cross your path in the Alley, and said they could likely wait until then to call on you."_

His muscles tensed.

"_They?"_

"Well yes sir, Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape, though the Professor seemed to be doing most of the search." Tom seemed hesitant at his expression. "It's all right that I told them I'd seen you, I hope? "

"Oh, of course." Caspian reassured quickly, coaching his features into their more neutral state. "Just surprised that's all." Well that was one way to put it. Not a _complete_ lie. It definitely was a surprise, just not a pleasant one.

Inside him, Caspian's heart had plummeted.

Malfoy.

A searing hate he had not felt for over a year threatened to engulf him. Lucius bloody fucking Malfoy. It was only out of friendship for Lysander that Caspian had spared the life of the arsehole who had murdered his wife. Lysander Black might have abandoned everything he ever was , down to his very name, but he still loved his father. Caspian growled under his breath.

And Lucius had repaid that mercy him by slitting his son's throat. Lysander had been a month away from completing his apprenticeship. Both he and Severus had been rocked to the core though the latter particularly, as he had lost his godson. Like when Lily had died, he had felt he had lost a piece of himself. Severus was also the one that finally killed the murdering bastard, but Caspian did manage to get one good curse for the sake of the late Ginevra Potter.

No, Lucius was the last person he had wanted on his case. Especially since his involvement could very easily lead to Fudge's. Caspian hadn't wanted that idiot aware of his presence yet. Unlike Dumbledore, he couldn't vouch for his good intentions. A man that stupid in power was a hazard for disaster. And Malfoy searching for information on him could turn out very dangerous for his plans.

He turned to the ground then, diving as sharply as he had ever done on his _Firebolt, _and leveled out just six feet from crashing, all the while reverting his form, so that by the time he was human again, his feet landed perfectly on the ground.

In front of him stood a familiar out or order telephone box. Cancelling the invisibility, he stepped inside, and shut the door.

Five minutes later, as he made his way to the front counter to present his wand, Caspian couldn't help but feel a trifle nervous. He had, once again, covered his mastery attire with his less singular travelling cloak, but he still felt that every eye was on him. The portly receptinist from Wizard Resources to whom he presented his wand barely looked at him however, and for that, he was thankful.

"Ah, let's see. Holly. 11 inches. Phoenix feather core and…Dear me! What ….?"

"….soaked in Taipan venom. "

At this, the clerk did look up at him. "I … see." He managed, nervously. "Uh…where was I…um…in use approximately fourteen years. " His head lifted again, his nervous expression still there. Caspian barely contained his huff of exasperation. This was ridiculous. Snakes were nowhere near as dangerous as dragons, yet no one reacted like that when you had one of their heartstrings for a wand. Oh no! It was only if it was a snake that there was a problem. Bloody prejudiced ignorants!

It wasn't as if he'd had a choice, it had been necessary after his attunement in parselmagic. Besides, he liked his wand like this. Nevertheless, he ignored the attitude and replied politely that the WR receptionist was correct.

He was then returned his wand, the poor man practically throwing it at him.

"Thank you." Pocketing it, he lifted his gaze to the man once more, whose eyes were riveted on the cloth in which the suspicious wand had just disappeared. "Could you direct me towards the Advanced Magical Training office? I had an appointment scheduled for ten fifteen" It was just past ten thirty then.

The man's eyes returned to meet Caspian's hesitantly. "Yes. Third floor. It's a subdivision of the Department of Wizarding Education, so you'll have to head down the right-hand hallway from the lift. "

Caspian nodded in thanks and headed off to the golden-gated lifts, which were mercifully empty.

His greeting in the AMT office was hardly better the one in the Atrium however. As Gornuk and Griphook had assured him, the paperwork had easily been made and transferred from the bank to the Ministry, and could not be contested, as the marks tattooed on his wrists attested to the validity of the information they held. All that was needed now, was for the idiot in front of Caspian to stop wasting his time, and file the damn folder, so they could proceed to submitting a request to a Runes Master to complete his training.

The wizard before him however, had other plans, and seemed to be exceedingly thick-skulled.

"So, Mr. Peverell, you want to start a runic apprenticeship? You should know it's…"

"No I don't want to start a runic apprenticeship!" he interrupted, "I already started one, I want to complete the seventeen months I have left of it. Well actually, seventeen months and seven days . But that isn't the point. The point is that my Runes' Master died in an attack last month, and I need a new one. And it's Lord Peverell to you." He wouldn't normally resort to his title to get things done, but this 'dunderhead' as Severus would say, was trying his nerves.

The long rant and the title did seem to provoke a reaction thankfully, and the man at least conceded to look at the damn form. His eyes widened.

"This can't be right! It says here you've got a completed Defense mastery."

"As I do." Caspian replied curtly, his lips thinning in a decidedly McGonagall-like fashion.

He man scoffed. "That's not possible; you're much too young. Even Albus Dumbledore was older when he received his Transfiguration mark."

Caspian could have throttled him. "Actually, you'll find Albus Dumbledore received his apprenticeship insignia three months after his twentieth birthday. I myself had been twenty for roughly five months when my mentor took me on. As for when I completed it, well exactly three years later to the day. But we aren't here to discuss my Defense Mastery. We're here for my Runic Apprenticeship."

The man seemed to want to retort again, but catching Caspian's glare, and cowering slightly under it, he reluctantly took up his quill. He looked up again.

"Your previous Master's name isn't included."

"He required a fidelity oath on my induction as apprentice. It was never undone before his death and it included protecting the knowledge of his identity" ,was the curt response. This wasn't of course, strictly true, but it was common enough, or at least had been common enough a few years past (during the first war) that Caspian knew it would be believed.

The man grunted.

"Very well then. Everything seems to be in order. Here you are." He stamped the ministry seal at the bottom of the form, and spelled a copy for himself. He got up then and moved over to a cabinet from which he returned with a short scroll of parchment. "There. Full list of Runes' Masters taking on apprentices. You'll need to present your application through the Ministry…."

"Gringotts already gave me a name, and suggested I visit him myself, instead of the standard application. Apparently I'd be of personal interest, is how the bank representatives put it."

The man looked dubious. "Who?"

Caspian checked the parchment Gornuk had given him. At the bottom before the Goblin seal, were etched three words.

"Leander Judson Hayes." He read out.

The man in front of him stared for a second, then burst out laughing.

"Hayes never takes anyone."

Caspian scowled at him. "Whether Master Hayes takes me up or not is none of your concern. Do you know where I might find him?"

The man laughed again but sobered slightly. "Yeah, just down the hall, he's been working here a lot lately so you'll probably find him easily enough." Then the man laughed again, making Caspian really want to punch him. But he ignored him and went on his way.

Seeing an open office at the end of the hall, Caspian walked up to it cautiously, and knocked gently on the door as he peaked inside.

One word to describe the room before him would be chaos. It reminded him vaguely, though it was to a lesser extent, of the maze of clutter in the Room of Hidden Things version of the Room of Requirement. A desk, assorted filing cabinets and a few chairs were barely discernible under a sea of parchment scrolls, diagrams, and the occasional complicatedly functioning magical instrument. His gaze stopped as he caught sight of the diminutive man standing on a pile of thick books before the desk swearing loudly at a large pile of complex charts and rune notes.

"Fifth time, fifth time I've tried this, and the bloody ward still implodes on itself as soon as I get it constructed!"

Caspian advanced slowly, focusing his attention on the foremost diagram carefully, then started slowly. "Maybe you should invert _ailaz _and _rethos, _there", he indicated, pointing. "The construction won't be as elaborate and it's a temporary fix, but it'll stabilize the ward enough for you to figure out what you've missed in the construction."

The tiny man looked up at him suddenly, and fixed him with a Basilisk's glare. Caspian was suddenly struck with the disturbing thought that if Flitwick and a Mad-eye Moody reproduced, this would be the result.

"Who the hell are you?" He barked out, clearly suspicious. "How dare you barge in here! Trying to spy on my work no doubt you good for nothing…"

Caspian ignored his rant, and cut in directly, "Master Hayes, I presume?"

The man grunted in acknowledgement.

"I'm Caspian Peverell."

Hayes eyebrow lifted slightly, but he didn't comment.

"Gornuk sent me, from Gringotts. I need to complete my Runes Mastery, and he said you'd be interested in taking me."

"He did, did he?" Hayes growled out. "Well he's wrong. Meddlesome goblin! I don't take apprentices, they're useless, the lot of them. Never do what you want them to, and demand to be taught from the word go."

"If you don't take apprentices, why are you listed as taking them?"

Hayes growled. "I take apprentices who can do what I'm looking for. That is to say none, including you. Now get out."

"I only came because Gornuk said I was precisely what you _were_ looking for. But even if you're sure that's not the case, maybe you could still consider the apprenticeship"

Hayes looked at him "Why the hell would I do that, I told you, I despise apprentices."

Caspian smirked. "You did tell me that. You even said you found them useless. As did Gornuk. He also told me however, that you'd be rather interested in someone who could work with parselrunes."

Hayes , who had been focusing on the parchment again, obviously considering the matter closed, shot up suddenly.

"You're attuned to parselmagic?"

"Yes."

Hayes' shock turned to suspicion, and the glare was back.

"That's not possible. The only known parsel-line was Slytherin's, and his last heir was killed four years ago."

Caspian smirked again. "Impressive. Not many people know of Voldemort's heritage (he was pleased to see Hayes did not cringe at the name) though it's pretty obvious if you think about it. But still your reasoning is flawed. You see, as you pointed out, Slytherin's was the last line _known_ to speak parseltongue. There have been others throughout history." Though this did not apply to Caspian's reception of the gift, it was true. As prejudice against parseltongue increasing over time however, most families concerned had elected to hide their talent. Caspian continued. "Though hereditary, parselmagic, much like magic in general, can reappear after having disappeared for generations. How else would Salazar Slytherin have acquired the gift in the first place?"

Hayes grunted again, but Caspian could tell he seemed interested and was trying not to show it. His eyes still bore a great deal of suspicion though, and he seemed to be weighing out something in his mind. Caspian didn't have long wait to find out what, as the tiny figure turned suddenly, on him, and thrusting out his wand yelled _Serpensortia!_

A bright black snake, about four feet in length, and a couple inches thick suddenly flew through the air towards Caspian, before landing heavily on his shoulders. Feeling the muscles tense beneath its shiny dark scales and instinctively knowing it would probably consider him a threat, Caspian at once cried out :Stop!:

The snake, who had alarmingly quickly been wrapping himself around Caspian's upper torso, paused for a second, before the head descended suddenly from by his right temple, and took position in front of his face. As silver- emerald eyes met sapphire blue, it hissed at him.

:You speak?: Now familiar enough with the slightly over sibilant quality that separated it from English, Caspian let the whispery feminine caress of the words slip over him. Obviously the snake was a female. He looked over her closely, taking in the onyx form, contrasted by a single stripe of pure white that adorned the snakes back, from the tail to the head where it formed a perfect diamond. The front of her mouth was also white, as was her underbelly, but this had a creamier tint to it. A kingsnake. Knowing they generally strangled their prey as they weren't venomous (though immune themselves to most other venoms), Caspian thanked Merlin he'd reacted quickly.

:I do: he replied amiably, :It is a rare gift among wizards, that I have been fortunate enough to receive:

Caspian hardly thought having a fraction of a dark wizard's soul stuck inside you for seventeen years was fortunate, but the parsel had been a blessing in the end. Of course, his scaly friend didn't need the details.

The kingsnake seemed to take in his words before enquiring, in a slightly accusing tone :Why have you conjured me here speaker?:

:I seek an apprenticeship in Runic magic with Master Hayes, the other human you see behind me: he explained calmly, ignoring said wizard's awestruck face at the scene unfolding in front of him.

:The work he has set out to do has need of my gift in speaking, yet due to the rarity of such a gift, he was unwilling to take my possession of it on my word. So he summoned you here in an attempt to challenge my claim. I apologise for any distress this may have caused you. I am willing, of course, to banish you back to where you were:

: No. I think I will stay with you speaker: The snake rustled comfortably on his shoulders.

:I find my current perch to be most advantageous, and would be loath to leave it so soon. As for your apology, it is unneeded, and not yours to give in the first place, as you did not summon me yourself. The Hayes-human did, in an attempt to spite you. I could strangle him if you want:

Caspian chuckled at the snake.

: Or bite him. I might not be venomous, but my fangs are still sharp:

Caspian considered the snake. : I thank you for the offer, my friend, but I must reject it, though it is appreciated. I need his mentoring if I can have it, and would not wish to cause him harm: he chuckled again at the animal's apparent disappointment: but as for staying with me, you are welcome to if you want to, though it might be best if we were bound. Conjured snakes have a habit of disappearing, the bond would prevent that:

: How would we bind, speaker?:

: First off, name is Caspian. What should I call you? We need to know our names before we proceed:

: I do not have a name, Caspian-speaker:

Caspian pondered for a moment. : How about _Regina_? It means 'queen' in Latin, which is only appropriate, considering your species:

The snake hissed in approval.

: Good. Now,: he started, extending his left wrist, revealing the scroll tattoo. On one side of it could just be made out the still recent marks of his immunity bite, from where the Taipan had sunk his fangs in him a month before.

:You see the Taipanbite?:

:Yes:

:Place your fangs on the other side of the scroll, symmetrically to it. It would give me access to your healing magic: It was a known fact thatmagical kingsnakes had an even greater resistance to snake venoms than their non-magical counterpart, as well as possessing some healing powers in their saliva.

As the snake descended to position herself, Hayes now looking on with a mixed expression of fear and awe, Caspian took out his wand, and pointing it to the king snake, spoke in parseltongue.

:To you, Regina,Californian Kingsnake I, Caspian Peverell parsel speaker, shall have myself freely bound by magic. So I wish it, so I swear:

A ribbon of golden white twisted itself around Regina, Caspian's wrist, and his wand, disappearing as the fangs pierced his skin when Regina caught his signal. Caspian smiled, and looked up, ignoring the twinge of pain. This had nothing on a Basilisk bite. Hayes had gone pale white, and his jaw was trembling. "What the hell was that?"

"That," explained Caspian cheerfully, "was me being bound to my familiar. I trust that was convincing enough?"

Hayes looked carefully at Regina, who was busy resuming her place on Caspian's shoulders, apparently decided on a snooze.

After a moment, his expression became slightly more composed, and he grunted, turning back to his notes once more.

"I'm warning you kid, you had better work your arse off, 'cause I don't like slackers."

Caspian smiled brightly. "Understood, Master Hayes."


	6. Ch5 Rowan Ravenclaw's Griffin

**Chapter 5 Rowan Ravenclaw's Griffin **

Severus Snape slammed the door to his quarters shut as he stormed in. Three hours. Three hours and an entire night spent away from the comfort of his own chambers. All that time, wasted on the bloody idiot and nothing! Nothing apart from drenched clothes and an even worse temper than that of the previous day. To cap it all, none of his orders had been ready yet so nothing had come out of his excursion at all. Complete waste. And not just of his time. His time, his effort, and his money. Three galleons on a room at the Leaky Cauldron that could have gone to potion's supplies. Argh! He was tired, cold, and wet from the rain, all for nothing!

The worst of his annoyance came from his target managing to give him the slip three times, once completely vanishing from a dead-end alleyway! Snape had not heard the tell-tale crack of apparation, so he knew that couldn't have been it. Huffing in anger, the young man turned to go seat himself by the fire, only to find himself face to face with a terrified House-elf he must not have heard apparate in in his anger, unless it had already been waiting for him in here.

"Well? What do you want?" he barked out angrily, perhaps more vehemently than was necessary, so that the poor elf was left visibly shaking in front of him.

"Toppy is sorry, sir." It whimpered out feebly, "Master Dumbledore is asking Toppy to call Professor Snape to his office when he returns, sir. Toppy is not meaning to make Professor Snape angry."

Snape forced out a long sigh to get rid of some of the tension in his neck. It wouldn't do to take his frustration out on a house-elf, however annoying they were. He was only doing his job after all. And it was true he needed to speak with Dumbledore soon, even if he would have preferred a bit of time to cool off first.

"Very well." He said, his tone still blunt, but having lost great deal of its agressivity. "Tell Professor Dumbledore I'll be right up then."

"Oh Toppy is going right away, sir!"

Resisting the urge to sneer at the elf's squeaky voice as Toppy disappeared, Snape turned on his heal to the door, heading up the steps from his dungeon quarters. Usually, the floo network shutdown during the summer break was a source of great annoyance to the professor, and a frequent grievance the young wizard had made over the course of his four year teaching career. At the moment however, it provided, through the long trek from the dungeons to the second floor, a chance to release some of his pent up frustration. It would only have been improved by his running into an erring first or second year Gryffindor, from which he would have found an excuse to dock a few dozen points for some trifle or other. As it was, there were no such ready-made victims around, it being the summer holidays, but Snape made it to the ugly stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office in a relatively calmer mood than the one he set out in.

"Fizzlers." His eyes rolled only a fraction of what they would have five minutes previously. The Gargoyle stepped aside, and Snape started mounting the steps, which wound upwards for several turns before ending in front of the familiar Griffin knocker. No sooner had he reached it, then Dumbledore's voice was heard, signaling to come in immediately. Obviously, the Headmaster had been keeping a look out for his approach.

"Ah Severus!" greeted Dumbledore, "Dilys was just in the infirmary and saw you arriving when she returned." The headmaster peered at him carefully, as though looking for something in his countenance. "You certainly seem better than I expected, my friend. Poor Toppy was in such a state I didn't know what to think."

Snape sighed. "I've had a long few days Headmaster, and my reception of your elf must not have been at its most welcome." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling as usual, filled with a mirth that was confirmed by the genial smile he was giving his now scowling employee.

"You really must be in a terrifying mood, Severus, indeed, to have been crashing around your office for a full three minutes before even noticing Toppy's presence e in your quarters."

Snape sent him an impassive glare.

"I am tired, cold, and wet Headmaster, and in no mood for any trivialities this morning. Your house elf said you wished to speak to me?"

Dumbledore nodded slightly, suddenly serious again, and gestured to the seat in front of his desk, which Snape did not take. He stood, instead, focusing on Dumbledore expectantly, waiting for him to tell him why he was here.

"Nothing urgent Severus, at least I hope not. I merely wanted to enquire after the progress of your work. I know you've had a few setbacks recently, and we've been rather worried" here he searched Snape's face again, apparently still trying to determine something. "No one's seen you for almost two days," he added after a pause, "and you did not show up for breakfast or lunch today either. Even Minerva was concerned."

Snape's scowl deepened. "I was fine Headmaster. Simply detained in Diagon Alley by unexpected business, but I assure you it is nothing to concern yourself about. Or that infernal feline."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Don' let Minerva hear you my friend. She might transform you into a rat just to hunt you down, for a comment like that. "

"I certainly wouldn't put it past her." grumbled Snape angrily, "I spent the entire weekend as a sparrow following last year's Quidditch final and the devil-cat took great enjoyment in pouncing on me every opportunity she got. " Here he turned his glare to the headmaster. "A condition you allowed her to keep me trapped in for over thirty hours before you reacted Headmaster!" Dumbledore chuckled again. "I'm sorry Severus," chuckled Dumbledore again, not sounding sorry at all, "but she had conveniently not informed me where you were. Though I must say you did gloat a little loudly over Slytherin's victory."

Snape scoffed. "As if she would have done any differently in my place, she's been raving about Charlie Weasley ever since last October's first year flying lessons, going on and on about how I'd better watch out this year because the Gryffindors will apparently have the cup 'in the bag'."

"Ah yes, young Mr. Weasley. Entering Second year is he? And I know young William is starting his fourth. Not to forget the others to come in the next few years if I've heard correctly."

Snape shook his head. "Two Weasleys are more than enough. I don't need any more." He looked sternly at Dumbledore, a very solemn expression on his face. "Hogwarts should have an attendance quota per family Dumbledore; we don't need even more dunderheads invading these walls. Especially a progeny doomed to belong to Gryffindor."

The last word was spoken with such distaste that Dumbledore chuckled again.

"You never know Severus; one could always break tradition and end up with your snakes;"

Snape looked appalled at the idea, and made to clutch his chest. "I would ask of you headmaster, not the provoke shocks to my system. You might induce a heart condition."

"My apologies Severus." smiled the old wizard, "I can offer you a lemon drop if you wish, I've recently laced them with mild doses of Calming draught"

Snape sneered once more. "No, I do not want, a…..Lemon drop, Headmaster. With or without the potion. Though I must express my concern that you regularly attempt to drug your students. Not that I particularly care for the brats." His eyebrow rose significantly as he said this.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again. "Oh, no, Severus. Nothing like that. What a devious character you make of me. These are for my benefit."

The Headmaster's mirth diminished a little, and le let out a small sigh of resignation before continuing. "I must admit, however much I am flattered at Cornelius' frequent desire for advice, it does get a touch frustrating." His tone was still lighthearted, but Snape could hear the weariness beneath it.

The latter grimaced. "Fudge is an idiot Headmaster. You shouldn't tire yourself trying to counter his many inadequacies. Interacting with politicians is a dangerous game, and with naïve imbeciles like Fudge, one known to provide little gain for too much effort."

Dumbledore shook his head gently. "He means well enough I suppose. But he is too attached to public image. I fear if the day were to come when he had to choose between action and popularity he would forego the former."

Snape snorted. "Malfoy is delighted with him. He knows Crouch would have made it much more difficult to escape Azkaban, and he sees, quite rightly so, Fudge as an easy means to exert influence on the government;." Dumbledore's features were suddenly graced with a slightly grim smile. "Ah,yes,Lucius. Ever the philanthropist, moving about in society. Asserting the Malfoy title wherever he may go." He shook his head again. "Though I fear his assessment of Cornelius might be correct."

He sighed again, then shook himself slightly. "I am sorry Severus; here I am troubling you with the problems of an old man, when you have enough on your plate. I called you here to talk about you after all. I suppose, from your countenance this morning that the obstacles to your research have not yet been removed?" He offered Snape a sympathetic smile. "I had hoped, my friend, after trying weeks waiting upon your suppliers, that your luck would finally have turned."

Severus shook his head, partly in annoyance, partly reassurance; "There was no need to worry yourself Headmaster. Though it is true I am still unfortunately rendered…." Here his scowl returned, "unproductive in my personal works by the inefficiency of my private supplier, I will not flatter his incompetence by giving it more credit than it is due, and he is not the cause of my current irritation," he huffed impatiently, " or at least not the majority of it."

"Nor indeed," he added a few seconds later, "is he the cause of my stay in Diagon Alley last night, instead of returning here. That, ironically, brings us back to Lucius Malfoy." Here he shook his head again, a frown etched on his face at he memory of the morning's failed entreprise. An entreprise he had only embarked upon on Malfoy's council. Bloody waste of time! "Indeed?" inquired Dumbledore, interest obviously peaked, "What tricks has the current Malfoy Head of House been up to lately? Anything of import?"

Snape's grim countenance had returned completely, and it was quite a few moments before he answered. "Malfoy's not he main party concerned. He just ended up getting involved", he started, turning slightly on his side, while pacing slowly in front of Dumledore's desk, to void off some of his agitation. Momentarily crossing gazes with his superior, he started again. "There's been an unexpected development. In quite a few areas."

Dumbledore's brow rose questioningly at this, inviting the Potions' Master to continue.

Snape turned in his paces, concentrating on the carpet beneath his restless feet as he spoke. "When I met Malfoy by chance at the Leaky Cauldron, yesterday, I'd been brought there attempting to retrace the footsteps of someone I came across at the apothecary. It was someone I'd never seen before, but he caught my attention immediately. Young man, probably around my age, perhaps a few months younger. Lean figure, yet rather imposing. Though it wasn't his physical appearance, strictly speaking, that caught my eye. More his apparel." Dumbledore nodded, to show he understood. "I suppose there was something particular that caught your attention Severus? You are not one to latch onto detail unless it is of particular significance."

Snape scoffed. "I'd have to have been irreparably blind of both eyes to miss him. Particular? His entire appearance was particular." His pacing turned again, and his head resumed shaking in frustration. "I could hardly miss the mastery attire, having become accustomed to it over the last few months, which surprised me more because of our location in an apothecary than because of the attire itself, as I had not heard news of another Potions apprentice so close to my age, completing their mastery."

"Indeed Severus I can guarantee you, you are the last recorded Potions' apprentice in England in the last ten years. Whatever this young man's mastery was…."

"I came to that conclusion soon enough on my own headmaster." Put in Snape impatiently. "It was easy enough to identify the insignia on his left sleeve as a scroll."

"Runes?" enquired Dumbledore, it wasn't the most frequent apprenticeship undertaken, but common enough for him to wonder at Severus' clear fascination with this mysterious character.

"Yes, but the scroll sash was white. And considering the scroll was on the left sleeve, I thought it safe to assume, his principal insignia was on his right." Here Snape's agitation seemed to be mounting again, and Dumbledore, perceiving this, centred his focus on his young friend, intent on catching every word.

"Naturally," started Snape in exasperation, "I was expecting something dull, like History or Arithmancy but," he stopped suddenly, turning to Dumbledore with wide eyes. The older man had not seen him lose his impassive mask so completely since the Black and Lupin incident in his fifth year at Hogwarts. "Dear Merlin Headmaster, he had the bloody wand-crossed dagger!"

"Defense?" asked Dumbledore, this time genuinely surprised. "A fully qualified Defense Master at an estimated twenty-five years of age?"

"I checked. Twice. He had the damn belt and everything. Red and black across his robe, just discernible beneath his cloak."

Dumbledore nodded. "I can understand your interest in him Severus. This is unexpected indeed. As far as my knowledge goes, no one that young has even been submitted for a Defense apprenticeship let alone completed the full mastery in quite some time. Alastair was the youngest in the last twenty-five years or so, and he had just turned twenty-seven. To have done so is quite an achievement. Did you manage to find out anything about this mysterious Defense Master?"

"That's where the rest of my story comes in. Along with Lucius Malfoy. He had a family crest embroidered on the back of his cloak, but I could not identify it. It was familiar somehow, but I was not able to link it to any of the Ancient families."

"Foreign perhaps?"

Snape pondered this. "It would be possible, I suppose. Malfoy did not seem to recognize it either, so it is a possibility. But somehow I doubt it. Though I had never seen him, he looked comfortable, even at home with his environment."

"Hmmm. I see. And you say Malfoy was with you?"

"No. Like I said before, we met by chance at the Cauldron later on, after I'd been tracking the stranger for some time through the alley. He'd left in a hurry from the apothecary, and by the time I'd paid and followed him out, he had vanished. Malfoy ran into me when I was questioning Tom."

"He asked after your business?"

"Yes. I decided it would do better to inform him. Not doing so would have struck him as suspicious, and I estimated informing him could possibly lead to a source of further developments."

Dumbledore nodded. "You were probably right. Withholding information would not have served you at all at this point; someone with as much hold at the Ministry as the current Lord Malfoy would be bound to hear something sooner or other anyway. I have no doubt rumours of a young wizard of noble heritage, foreign or not, and in possession of a Defense Mastery, roaming Diagon Alley will spread rapidly enough, mark my words. No, this way at least it keeps us in the loop." He turned with a rather grim expression to fix the onyx eyes before him with his own piercing blue. "I suppose he is on his way to interrogate Cornelius."

Snape snorted. "Yes. Though I don't expect anything to come out of that. Or at least not that quickly. No," he sighed, "Lucius' value for the moment is in the Manor Library. I'm sure the Malfoys have managed to collect quite a few of the _Olde Nobility Grimmoire_s. He's probably cross-referencing the description of the crest with every surname in History starting with P."

"P?"

"We led Tom to believe we were acquaintances checking to see if a friend of ours had checked in for the night. Following our description of him, Tom said he'd been there in the last hour, and the only unknown name to the two of us in that time frame was a 'C.I.P.'"

"Well, it's definitely a start." Acknowledged Dumbledore, "Even if there are quite a few noble lines that start with P." He smirked at Snape slightly.

"Prince for one."

Snape scowled. "I think I would have been able to identify my grandparents seal, Headmaster."

But Dumbledore was still listing names "….Prewett, even though their estate was greatly diminished in the Witch-hunts during the Middle Ages. And of course, let us not forget the Potters…."

Snape glared openly at that. "I would give anything, personally, to forget the Potters." He grumbled, "In any case, I know my wizarding history well enough to know that the Potters bear a Darcorn on their seal, and not a Griffin."

Dumbledore froze suddenly, a frown furrowing his brow. At his pause, Snape searched his eyes again, but though he found them, the gaze was lost far away, as if the Headmaster was contemplating something far in the distance.

"…..griffin, griffin,….wizarding nobility…."Dumbledore was mumbling incoherently to himself, having seemingly forgotten Snape was there at all.

"Headmaster?"

This seemed to bring Dumbledore out of his temporary haze, but the deep frown remained.

Turning from his Potions' Master, whom he had yet to offer an explanation to, he headed to one of the many bookshelves that lined his office, obviously on the lookout for something. "I might have something here." He explained rather uninformatively, and catching sight of a thick, red and brown leather bound volume on the penultimate shelf, levitated it over to him, before returning to open it on his desk. Here he turned to Severus again. "This Griffin, how was it depicted?"

Snape furrowed his brow, to match the Headmaster's. "Wings partly extended, on its hind quarters and preparing to take flight." He paused. "It had a weapon it one of its talons, I spear, I believe, and some kind of branch in the other. Why? Do you recognize it?"

Dumbledore nodded curtly, his gait as composed as ever, but belied by the excitement seeping through his twinkling eyes.

"Yes I believe I do. " He turned the pages carefully, and came to stop at the depiction of a rather majestic griffin, on three limbs this time, its front left talon bent slightly above the ground, as if it had been pawing it. Its wings were completely unfolded and showed beautiful feathers of blue and bronze coulouring.

"Does that seem familiar?" Snape frowned. "Relatively, yes. Though their positions are different. The house coulours on the seal match those on the beast though, same shades of Royal blue and bronze, though there doesn't seem to be any silver. You think the two griffins to be the same?"

Dumbledore smiled. "This," he pointed to the griffin, "my friend, is the old guardian of the Ancient Noble House of Rowan Benedict Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw?" repeated Snape in disbelief. "Surely not. Rowena Ravenclaw was known to have an eagle as her emblem. We have a school house that attests to that Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "That is indeed the case; but it was not originally so. Much like the other founders of this school, Lady Ravenclaw adopted as her emblem the animal which she thought best embodied her, which like Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, was her animagus form. Slytherin, of course, took his from his unique ability to speak parseltongue and through it, his particular affinity towards snakes. The four originally adopted these as personal representations, but as Hogwarts' importance grew, and through it, their own renown, they were afterwards associated to their families. Nevertheless, a few generations before Hogwarts' creation, a great ancestor or other of Rowena's, was killed in a Muggle uprising. He had before he succumbed to the number of his opposition, managed to send for help from one of his cousins, who fortunately arrived in time to save Ravenclaw's wife and heir, thus preserving the Ravenclaw line. The cousin lines saw themselves closely allied as a result, and the cousin soon adopted the Ravenclaw griffin as his Crest Guardian."

"I still do not see what connection this has with the mysterious C.I.P, Headmaster. The initials do not fit." Dumbledore smiled. "Ah. Yes. But you see, Severus, Lord Ravenclaw's cousin was one Darius Peverell, who later became known for his motto of "Our blood we protect", the original meaning of which was deterred by Pureblood extremists in the late 1400's. His crest, unless I am much mistaken, was of a Griffin taking flight, while clutching a spear and a shield in his talons. The House coulours, he adopted from Ravenclaw, adding the silver from his own House."

"And the branch? You describe a shield, headmaster, but…."

"Ah, yes. As to that I am not sure. Though if I were to guess, from my personal knowledge of that particular family's history, I would suppose it to be a branch of elder. If that were the case, it would likely have been adopted by Antioch Peverell when he inherited lordship of the House."

"And you believe C.I.P. to be a Peverell?"

Dumbledore's smile vanished suddenly, and his frown reappeared as his gaze dropped to his wand. He started turning it in his hands slowly, watching it studiously, as if searching for something. Then as suddenly as he had done so, he lifted his head back up again.

"It would fit with your description of his crest, as well as the initials you and Malfoy found in the Registry." He sighed. "But this in itself, poses an even greater mystery than his surprising mastery in Defense." His head shook gently. "Though it is known that the Peverell line endured through Antioch's youngest brother Ignotus, as both he and the middle son, Cadmus, were left without a male heir before their untimely deaths, no Peverell has been recorded for well over a century, if not two." He paused, lost in thought again. "Indeed, until now, I was rather convinced that the last living descendant of the Peverells was Harry James Potter."

"Potter?"

Dumbledore smiled feebly at the utmost disgust which Snape inserted into the name;

"Scowl all you want, Severus; I am not rewriting history for your inconvenience. I urge you to research the official wizarding family records at the Ministry if you disbelieve me, but you might find that a waste of time."

Snape sneered. "And yet apparently, they missed something, because from what we've established, there is a direct Peverell heir breathing and walking around Diagon Alley. Those bloody records of yours do nothing to explain the heir ring that was lying there, clear as day, on his right hand. I saw it with my own eyes, Headmaster, and those damn things cannot be cheated or faked, you know it as well as I do. "

Dumbledore nodded grimly. "Which only makes this entire thing more mysterious. One must wonder, for example, where the Peverells have been hiding if they have indeed never died out, and why?" As he asked this, as much to himself as to his colleague, his calculating gaze dropped once more to rest on his wand.

"But what of today? Is that why you stayed in Diagon Alley last night? A chance to catch him at the inn?"

Snape almost growled. "That was my intention, at least. Tom let slip that he'd asked for an early breakfast. He made the supposition that Peverell had business in the Alley the next morning, that is to say today. So I stayed, on Malfoy's advice, rising myself at half-past five so I could not miss him before he left. Sure enough, at a quarter past six, he slips into the back of the cauldron and through to the alley. Hardly anyone about, but it was still difficult to track him. Not the least doubt he's a professional, though I have no idea how he knew he was being followed. I managed to keep up quite well, for a time, until he vanished. Luckily, I saw him an hour later, coming out of Gringotts. At first I was annoyed, because though the Goblins would not have said anything, I would surely have learnt something new if I'd managed to catch up with him earlier. I realized he had not finished his business, as he did not head back for the inn. This however is where I'm absolutely sure he knew I was tailing him. He lost me twice in the next forty-five minutes, the second time after heading in a dead-end alleyway. No apparation. No disillusionment. I cast the _Homenem revelio_. Nothing."

Dumbledore seemed impressed. "You are no amateur tracker Severus. To manage to throw you off not once but three times, I must admit, is quite an exploit."

Severus acknowledged it half-heartedly. "The only reason I managed to track him even that much was because of the rain. It caused footsteps in the mud. But even those were hard to identify, the man obviously knows what it is to go around on light feet." He shook his head in frustration. "Bloody waste of time. Anyway, Lucius said he'd keep me informed, so I'll warn you if there is anything new, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, and Snape headed out the door and out of sight, oblivious to the Headmaster once again gracing his slender wand with a faraway look, his slightly withered hands tracing the pale

Wood.


	7. Ch6 In the Midnight Hour

**Chapter 6**** In the Midnight Hour**

_Sunday, August 20 1985, 1:07, 16 Hyde Park Square, London_

All was silent in the house. The lights were darkened, everything was still, and the small shape of a growing boy could be seen rising and falling under his blanket as he breathed steadily in his sleep. All was quiet in the house.

And yet…Passing by the sturdy oak door on the ground floor, wherein had been recently carved a majestic griffin carrying a spear and a branch, a slight disturbance seemed to make exception to the rest of the house. A light and rhythmic scratching, broken by occasional pauses, sometimes accompanied by slight mutterings or the off chance curse, came muffled from behind the wood.

Inside, on the door's left side coming in, not far from the wide window that overlooked the Square, stood a desk covered in parchment, at which sat a young man in his mid-twenties, diligently writing away with his quill.

A reprimanding hiss sounded slightly from a chair in a far corner, next to two tall shelves filled with books. Caspian looked up as his familiar scolded him lightly. : You should not work so late speaker. You need sleep just as the young snakelet does:

Caspian smiled gently at Regina. Bless her. She mothered him at least as much as Molly was beginning to wonder how he had ever managed without that snake. Turning his head to the window, gazing out as the moonlight hit the silky leaves of the trees, he sighed.

: I have so much to do, Rege. And I really need to get this done before I write that letter: He was staring at the moon as he said this, the bright disk of its full globe reflected in his eyes.

Regina huffed, or made the hissing equivalent of a huff, but said nothing. It had been the same all week. Between work, and Harry, and the House…it had been a long seven days.

Not that Caspian had particularly minded. He had always been somewhat of a light sleeper, and the sleep he did have was invaded by nightmares more often than not. True, it had gotten infinitely better, once he had –FINALLY- mastered occlumency, but it affected him enough that he'd rather stay awake. Especially at this time of year. And at Halloween, and mid-november, and early May. Too many days he just wanted to forget.

He turned back to his quill.

Having a lot of work was tough, but he'd gotten through worse. After all, Caspian loved a challenge, for which his assignment definitely qualified. Hayes hadn't been joking when he'd warned he would have to work his ass off. Caspian paused again to flex the muscles in his right hand, carefully looking over the last paragraph he had written, as well as the adjoining diagram on which he had just scratched an additional rune. The analysis report was already a good two scrolls and a half long, and he knew it would be quite a few more before he'd finished.

Rather than take his new apprentice's capabilities at his word, the snarky Runesmaster had immediately set him to task, working on a complicated prototype ward he had personally set up for the ministry the year before. Caspian, upon being approved for apprenticeship, had been presented

with an enormous box full to the brim with scrunched up scrolls and messy scraps of paper, all covered in an almost illegible black script. They were, Hayes had explained, his original notes for the project, which he'd kept stored in case of further need. Caspian had been told to sort through all of them carefully while extracting all their useful information, to be written (and in the runes' case; drawn) up in a thorough Analysis Report. Hayes had then, with a slightly evil-looking gleam in his eye, told Caspian that when he finished, he could, if he so wished, attempt the construction of the prototype following his own report. In all appearance completely unphased by all that was required of him, Caspian had simply nodded, taken the box, and taken his leave, seemingly oblivious to the slightly disappointed air of the short man behind him. Clearly, Master Hayes had expected a lot of protest and complaint. But Caspian had grown up with adults waiting for him to fail. The Dursleys. Snape. The Ministry. Death Eaters. Voldemort. He'd been doing this too long for a little hard work to get the better of him. And so, in addition to buying and furnishing a House, as well as completing the guardian and adoption process of one Hadrian James Peverell Potter, Caspian had buried himself in his work. It was grueling and complicated, but also very rewarding, and now, a full seven days later, Caspian was even more determined to fulfill it to the best of his standards.

Shaking the exhaustion out of his sore limbs, Caspian reviewed the original drafted diagram, trying to decipher the many scribbles which it was covered with. He let out a small sigh of annoyance. That these were the work of a genius, there was no doubt. But like many a genius, their author had let his thoughts run ahead of his quill making it nigh impossible for another than himself to reread. Annotations and calculations seemed to be part of integrated thought processes, which having been carefully detailed in Hayes' own brain, had not found themselves on paper. Caspian was proficient enough to manage anyway, but it was tedious, and the main reason behind his slow progress. He was always afraid of forgetting something, or misinterpreting another, thereby rendering the entire thing useless.

He had established, quickly enough, that the prototype he was working on was a variation of an anti-theft ward; though much more elaborate than he'd ever seen before. While Finch had been a brilliant Master, circumstances had made him pursue a more pragmatic approach to Caspian's training. The wards he had worked on had all been centred around tracking, and concealment, things to be used on the run. Though he was skilled, he was yet inexperienced with the kind of runework that had this depth of construction. He was thankful at least, that hiding from and tracking _the Black Hands _had involved secrecy Runes, or he was sure he would have missed the ones interwoven in the framework of the prototype. They were of such skill that Caspian had no doubt even the more studied runescholars with the utmost dedication to the art would have trouble finding them in such a construction. Dedication. That certainly was something this project demanded. As well as completely focused concentration.

Such demanding work had its advantages however. Just as being tired after Quidditch practice had slowed down the nightmares plaguing him when he was little, so his current exhaustion sheltered him from the recollection and misery of what this week meant for him. Thursday night had been particularly difficult, and he had not slept at all, unwilling to tempt the taunting images of his imagination to attack once more. The visions of his wake were already cruel enough, that he knew he could not bear anything more.

_The silver white sway of the silky cloth falling ever so beautifully on her slight form. A gentle breeze caressing the dark red locks of her long hair, framing the dazzling smile of her mouth as she approached him. It was only them. And as she extended her hand to him, he extended his, but the more he extended the further she was…unreachable. Until suddenly, the collar of her dress was stained with red, and a knife fell from beneath her neck. She fell to the ground, lifeless, revealing behind her an evil smirk on a proud face, white blond hair shining as it laughed._

Caspian lifted his head to the window again, gaze lost in the distance. Yes, he had been glad of an opportunity to keep busy this week; focus on something else than the torment of his mind. Drowning himself in his work had prevented his drowning in alcohol. He knew for sure that nothing short of work and taking care of Harry had saved him from the Firewhisky on the seventeenth.

The silver-emerald eyes glistened suddenly, as if polished by unshed tears. Six years that could have been the happiest in his life, reduced to a mere three months. Three months followed by a haze of guilt and misery and the most unbearable suffering he had ever experienced. Caspian looked down at the black band of celtic designed silver which circled the ring finger of his left hand. He shook himself again, this time to ward off his thoughts more than his exhaustion. _Stop whining_, said a persistent voice in his head, _you can't make anything better if you sit on your ass feeling sorry for yourself. There are still people who need you. Harry needs you. Now suck it up._

Harry.

Harry needed him.

Caspian smiled. The voice in his head, which sounded remarkably like his deceased wife (who would surely have hexed him if she'd ever seen him like this) was right. As usual. Harry, (and many others besides) still needed him, and it was no use losing hope now. His smile widened as he thought of the small boy. It had taken no time at all for Caspian to completely fall in love with his newly adopted nephew. He had been scared at first, of the difficulties that would arise in raising his younger self, but had been quick to realize what he had told the Goblin council at Gringotts was true; that he and Hadrian James Potter were different people. The similarities were there, and not such that you could ignore them, but they simply seemed the similarities between a much older brother and his younger sibling. They were alike, yes, but not interchangeable. While their small childhood was identical, Caspian had been made by the next twenty years of his life into a man Harry would and could never become. From the moment Caspian Peverell had stepped over the threshold of number four on Privet Drive, their futures had separated, their identities had split. This Hadrian Potter had been given a new chance, a new life; something that the other had never been offered at such an early age.

It was true of course, that Caspian had escaped the Durleys as well, if only later, by heading off to Hogwarts at just over eleven years old. But he had done so unguided and unprepared both for the world in which he was suddenly thrust in, and the existence he was destined to lead in it. He had learnt as he always had, through experience, stumbling through on his own, as ever relying on himself more than any other. Adults, he was wary for a very long time, as they had always ignored him and his questions, and given him little reason to trust. Even his friends, who had eventually made it through his walls, and stood by him as strong as family (stronger indeed than his blood family), had had trouble breaking down his self-reliance. This Hadrian would never have to go through that. True, the little boy had already been damaged by the neglect and abuse (which thankfully had only turned for the worse much later) from his Muggle relatives and it would undoubtedly affect him for a long time, if not forever. He was unused to any kind of care or attention, was underfed for a boy his age, and looked like he'd been dressed from a charity donation.

But even with all of that, he was also young enough that that damage could be repaired. He was far from the level of distrust and instinctive wariness Caspian had had at eleven. While still nervous and uncertain, Hadrian had yet to completely forego the innocent ability to trust and rely on others. Hadrian already knew, a fact that most children had been protected from at such a young age, that not all the world was good. That there were bad people, like the Dursleys, and like Voldemort, and many others, that would not care for him. But now,Caspian could show him that there were also those that cared, and that there always would be. He knew, moreover, that Hadrian would never be complacent. He had seen, that night in the Dursleys' sitting room, the determination in the boy's eyes that he would never take his parents' sacrifice lightly. He would acknowledge that there were people who cared even when others wished him harm.

Of course, things did not go without a few hiccups. Harry had nearly cried when he'd seen his room. Or more particularly, his bed. He still woke up unnaturally early, and had a tendency to creep into the kitchen, as if by second nature, before remembering he wasn't required to make breakfast, and that Uncle Vernon would not shove him into a cupboard for the day if his coffee was not ready when he left for work.

The worst had been the first morning. Caspian had woken from his first night in Hyde Park Square to the sound of a distressed sobbing from downstairs. The settling in still incomplete, and the kitchen having yet to be stocked, the little boy had not found anything remotely adequate to prepare for a morning meal. Finally fishing out a kettle from a cupboard, Harry had filled it with water to at least prepare some tea. Having no wand, the already stressed child had been unable to work the stove, as it was magically powered. By then completely panicking, his accidental magic had kicked in, overheating the metallic kettle to a hot-iron red, the throthing water splashing and spluttering as it over-boiled, scalding Harry's skin. Feeling himself an incompetent failure and a freak, still not used to his "heathen abnormality" being explained away by magic, he had sunk down to the ground, crying and in pain, waiting for Caspian to come and punish him.

It was, undoubtedly, going to be an uphill battle. Many things, even little things, which Caspian had come to expect when it had been him, pained him when he saw them in Harry. A slight flinch there, a hesitance to start eating, a reluctance in the sitting room to sit anywhere other than on the floor. One thing Caspian was thankful for, though he could see it disconcerted Hadrian greatly, was his own ability to see through the child's defenses. As they had once been his own, Caspian had no trouble seeing past the façade the small boy had constructed, and coaxing him gently out of his hole. It would take time, but Harry would get better. He already was. He spoke up more, and generally managed to avoid calling Caspian sir; at least in private of their new home. In public, he reverted to formality. Any time they were out, usually shopping in Diagaon Alley, the little boy went as far as to leave 'Harry' behind, and invariably became 'Hadrian'. Caspian had not enforced this himself, and had been worried at first that Harry was distancing himself, until he understood that on the contrary, it made his ward more secure. Having always been 'Harry' or 'boy'; appelations usually intoned in varying degrees of mockery, rejection and reproach, 'Hadrian' distanced him from the life he had left at the Dursleys. "Hadrian Hunting" did not slip quite so well on the tongue; he was no longer 'little Harry' or 'that Potter brat' from Miss Ashbury's pre-elementary class, who had no friends and caused trouble; he was Hadrian Peverell, no longer confronted with the perpetual demeaning attitude of adults and children alike. It gave him confidence in himself (though Caspian was careful to not have it turn to arrogance: he refused to raise another Draco Malfoy) and in his own self-worth.

Being 'Harry' only for his closest relations also meant that he had close relations, reminding him once again that he had people who cared. As such, the boy's relationship with his new uncle had developed tremendously. Already comfortable enough with him at their initial meeting to derive comfort from him, Harry had finally started relying on the older wizard in the way a child would be expected to rely on a parent. Slowly but surely, the untamable curiosity which Caspian had never lost himself, stepped shyly forward, the initial hesitant inquiries being followed soon enough by lists and lists of questions. About Magic. About his parents. About the wizarding world as a whole. About Caspian himself. On and on they went, Harry never at his fill. It had made Caspian realise, three days previously, as he had come across Harry stumbling over words in a book, that once unhindered by the necessity of doing worse than Dudley in school (which was a task in itself), Harry would positively thrive on learning. He did not expect, from watching the boy run around the house, chasing after Regina and laughing merrily (a far sight from the Privet Drive Harry already)that he would ever have to deal with a second coming of Percy Weasley, but knew that this Harry would thrive on knowledge. Perhaps Gryffindor wouldn't be such an obvious choice(not that it had been originally either). Rather than become to unstoppable book-worm, he expected that, like himself, Harry would excel in his interests even if he only did average in the rest. Fascinated by both his uncle's masteries, which did not surprise Caspian one bit, as they both had the same natural affinities (being born the same person even if they no longer were); Harry particularly amused him with his interest in Potions. Caspian remembered himself being interested in the subject before Hogwarts, and though it had taken him almost nine years after that to re-appreciate the science in any way, he had managed to become, if nowhere near the level of a Potions Master, quite an adequate brewer in his own worth. His nephew's interest did not surprise him at all therefore, and, whatever Snape might say, he would not be surprised if, given the chance to appreciate it before school; Harry might not develop a brilliance in it of his own.

Thinking about Harry's education at Hogwarts had of course brought over the question of what he intended to do about Harry's current schooling. He knew, of course, that Harry was at an age where he had just begun to learn how to read and write, knowing how to spell out his name( as the boy had indignantly reminded him when signing the guardianship form) as well as starting to recognize sounds and words from groups of letters. Beyond Reading, writing and simple maths, however,he also personally believed that some extent of Muggle education would be necessary, reluctant to have his nephew ignorant of such a large world around them, as many wizards tended to be. He knew though, that he could not send his ward to Muggle school , as it would do very little to prepare him for the wizarding world, and would leave Harry at the same disadvantage he had had. He did not wish his nephew's first attempts at writing with a quill to occur at Hogwarts. With that in mind, Caspian knew he needed a tutor, but did not know how to find one he could trust who would be able and willing to do what he asked. That barred out all Purebloods, and many half-bloods, as well as a good number of people who would be overjoyed to take over Harry Potter's education for their own gain. He knew that his apprenticeship, as long as it lasted, as well as any work he undertook, not to mention the Horcrux hunt and the fight against Moldywart, prevented him from doing it, or he would have willingly done so.

And then, suddenly, the answer had come to him, so simple, so obvious, that Caspian did not know how he had not thought of it before. He knew, of course, that convincing him would be a challenge, and contacting him would take time, but was confident he could manage it.

Which brought him back to that letter. The letter that was waiting to be written, and sent out.

Caspian looked down at his report again, focusing carefully on the last few words. Nodding in satisfaction at his progress, he carefully piled up his work, and put it slightly to the side, before taking out a blank piece of parchment. A familiar hiss resounded from the same corner as before. Caspian rolled his eyes in exasperation.

: I promise I'll go to bed afterwards, Rege, but I've got to write this letter:

The kingsnake, giving the closest thing to a scowl that she could manage, bared her fangs at him, before slithering across the floor and up to her favourite perch on his shoulders.

: Make sure that you do:

Caspian chuckled, and shaking his head at the surveillance of his bothersome companion, set quill to parchment once more.

It was a good half hour later, after scrunching up two wasted sheets, that the young Peverell lord finally sealed up the envelope, pressing his heir ring carefully into the deep blue wax on the back so that the familiar griffin looked up at him. Casting a last protection charm on it to complete the already tight security of the missive, Caspian then turned to the snowy owl perched to the right of his desk. It had been simple enough to purchase Hedwig in Diagon Alley, as well as a medium sized tiger owl Caspian had dubbed Archimedes, that would be useful for missives where Caspian particularly wanted to avoid attention. The two got on well enough, apart from fighting over the honour of postal delivery, but as the brown owl was out already for a mail order, Hedwig stepped forward.

Caspian patted her head gently, receiving an affectionate peck on the finger in return, before standing to open the window to let her out. She set off majestically, gliding smoothly through the cool summer air like a ghost into the night, an envelope just visible clutched in her talons. No longer discernable as she flew swiftly away, yet written clearly on the front:

_M. Remus J. Lupin_

_34 B Turnpike Lane_

_London Borough of Haringey_

_London_


	8. Ch7 The Wax and Wane of Fortune

**Chapter 7 ****The Wax and Wane of Fortune**

_Friday August 25 1985, Mid-afternoon, The Leaky Cauldron_

The doors to the _Leaky Cauldron_, whether leading in from Muggle London, or out to the capital's main magical commerce centre, were almost constantly in motion, slamming shut every few moments or so before being flung back violently, under the pressure of what seemed to be Britain's entire magical community, going to and from Diagon Alley.

It was the last week or so of August, and as such, like every year, one of the busiest for this particular area of London. Just as the crowds in December invariably announced the Christmas season early, so the incessant thoroughfare of wizarding families passing through marked the summer's closure, as well as the approaching start of a new year at Hogwarts. _The Cauldron_, of course, was all the more busy because of its clients, who, though still amongst the constantly moving crowd of late school shoppers, added to the chaos by simply being in the way, insisting on greeting everyone of acquaintance that came through the doors, and generally making a lot of noise.

In all this commotion, to which he seemed, despite the considerable attention it called, completely oblivious, a lone figure sat, apparently preoccupied by nothing else than the table in front of him, which he appeared to be studying with a great deal of concentration.

In truth, as it happened, and so it would have been found by anyone had they approached him, Remus Lupin was not studying the table at all. In fact, it would be safe to say at that precise moment, that he was not studying anything in particular. Indeed, though his eyes seemed trained on the parchment laid out before him, his gaze was lost behind the words, words he scarcely needed to read by now to recall. These words, in fact, had been read so thoroughly and so often during the last few days, that they seemed permanently etched within the confines of his memory. But still, nearly a week after their first perusal was he unable to make sense of them. Or rather he did not trust himself to. The entire situation was much too good to be true, of much more good fortune than he had ever been used to.

It has to be said, from the start, that Mr. Lupin, though gifted with a rather excellent mind, as well as the diligence of study that inevitably went with it, had not been made used to, in his twenty-five years of life, being gifted with any sort of good fortune very often.

A most humble and gracious man, even said by his friends to be too much so; a great part of his character, as well as almost every aspect of his life, had been a direct consequence of (or influenced by) his condition. Indeed, it was only natural that this condition should plague his whole existence as it had afflicted him for most of it.

For nearly as long as he could remember, Remus Lupin had been a werewolf.

In his early youth, this had meant a great deal of physical pain, and a great deal of confinement in his own home, which he later found was his parents' way of protecting him from the scorn and prejudice of the world. His resulting solitude had led the young boy to books, and thus cultivating a curiosity his family only encouraged- convinced as they were that social stigma would keep him from school- he spent the greater part of his younger years with his nose buried in the pages of thick volumes advanced much beyond his years.

After that, of course, had come to Hogwarts, despite all expectations. And with Hogwarts came, of his entire existence, probably his largest stroke of luck. Not only, thanks to the extreme benevolence of one Albus Dumbledore, did he find himself admitted to the most prestigious magical school in England, but he found himself, for the first time in his life, with friends. Friends who grew as close to him as brothers, and who stood by him even when his dreaded secret was discovered. It was easy, in the protection of such an environment, and such a Headmaster, to forget the evils of the world around them.

For a time, social stigma, future prospects …in truth, reality was forgotten. Hogwarts was his perfect escape. He was liked and acknowledged, admired by his peers and congratulated by his teachers, who took pride in his accomplishments, despite their quite frequent exasperation with him and his friends (though in his defense, this exasperation was aimed particularly at two others). From secluded to included, Remus Lupin's world had spun on its axis. He shone academically and was even made prefect in fifth year (though honestly, who in their right mind would have made any of his three dorm mates a prefect?). All in all, his life was as good as life could be. At Hogwarts, he fitted.

It was around fifth year however, that reminders started emerging. His transformations, though now in the company of his established pack, were still painful, and left him scarred. There were also, periodically, glimpses of life out of the protection at Hogwarts: offhanded hateful comments when a werewolf attack was reported in _the Prophet_, questions of innocent third years for their Dark Creatures study report, the occasional confrontation with a Boggart (which was then the widespread discovery of his secret).

The worst wake-up of all had been Severus Snape.

While in no way fond of the young Slytherin, and rather disgusted with his attitude with many people, often younger than himself, Lupin had no way near the resentment for him that James and Sirius did. But in his belonging to the Marauders, Lupin inevitably got pulled in their schemes, even often in spite of himself, once nearly at the cost of a two lives, his own included. The entire situation had terrified him beyond anything he had ever known. He had no doubt, even now, even knowing what Sirius had become since, that his once friend had not meant to kill Snape. Frighten him, undoubtedly. Perhaps get him injured. But not killed.

Yet as often occurred with Sirius- though the young werewolf knew not how this had factored in his ultimate betrayal- he had acted without proper consideration of the consequences. It had always been a joke, amongst the four, how someone as naturally gifted and genial as Sirius, could act in such brash and reckless ways. It had taken months for him to speak to Sirius again. To even address him in any other way than by his surname, and to interact with him in more depth than the handing out of his detention notices from McGonagall, which he was to have until the end of term. The sheer stupidity, at the near cost of such a price, especially for him, had left him so hurt, so deeply affected that he had seemed to flounder for weeks. The entire affair, in all of its horror, had caused a realization. In any recurring situation such as the one James (who he had been reassured to find knew nothing of the occurrences until minutes before their playing out) had saved them from, had anything gone amiss, he would have been executed, soundly, despite his powerlessness in face of what had happened. Despite everything, he would have been executed, while Sirius would only have been expelled. Friendship renewed, the event had nevertheless left its mark. Other occurrences, though smaller, multiplied in the next two years, reaching a point by their graduation, that he could ignore no longer.

The screen offered by Hogwarts was gone. Placing amongst the best in his finals, results normally ensuring top positions at the ministry, or large demand in research, it was a cruel reality to find himself barred from any position of value in the wizarding world.

For a time, it little mattered. Determined to be content with his lot, Lupin was quite happy to take on tutoring students, whether magical or Muggle (as he was familiar with both cultures, being himself the product of two half-bloods) while joining forces with his friends in the fight against Voldemort. But wizards were wary of employing him, and regular employment became hard to come by.

In his personal life, thankfully, his friends still stood by him, as they always had. He was overjoyed, in the mere months following graduation, at James' and Lily's engagement, marriage, and subsequent parenthood . But even in that, holding on to the adorable bundle of blankets that held his honorary nephew, his joy was bittersweet. It had only served, in his view, to remind him of his own obstacles to ever finding anyone, or raising a family, as well as the knowledge that even should he find someone, he could not afflict the weight of his condition on her. Again, resolute to be content, Lupin had thrown himself in the role of doting uncle, caring for little Harry as he would never care for his own child.

Then, around January 1981 came the dreadful news that the Potters must go into hiding. It was around that time that Remus last saw them alive. Letters had been written, news and pictures exchanged, but something had changed after then. In those last months he had felt from them, and even more so from Sirius a certain distance, which did not, sadly, seem wholly unintentional.

It had been unspoken, but he had known why. The last bastion had fallen.

Moody, coming in from an interrogation, had come with the news that the Death Eaters were recruiting werewolves. Not two weeks before _that_, signs had led to belief that there may be a spy in the Order. Lupin could add two and two. He was suspected- however lightly and unwillingly so.

Had he been another man, he would have perhaps felt hurt that his friends were the ones distrusting him, when they had stood firm for so long, but he found he could not. It would be hypocritical.

He also, in the tense atmosphere of wartime suspicion, had more than once caught himself studying a professed friend with cautious eyes, questioning his or her actions. To his chagrin, it was only natural that his being a werewolf made him an easy target for all, even if unconsciously so. But he had forced himself not to lose courage. He had held on, firm, clinging to the hope of the war's end, and a return to the before.

Yet in the space of weeks, no, even a day, everything was lost. Yes, the war was over, but at what price? Three friends dead, one a traitor, and he alone, a werewolf with no remaining source of comfort (his parents had been killed in an attack a year previously), while a little boy he had treasured was left an orphan.

Alone for the first time since he was eleven years old, and no longer having his childish naivety to protect him, he was left, in despair, to face the cruelties of the wizarding world in solitude. His tutoring business continued, but waned; it was strange to realize how good Lily had been at finding him clients. His clothes grew shabby; he rented a low-rent flat in the centre of London. His life grew routine and dull marked forever by the grief of his friendship's tragedy.

And not once, in the last four years, had he had anything that could be classified as good luck. So why of all times, should it arrive now, and in such an unanticipated way?

Once again, his eyes focused on the page before him, and despite his close knowledge of it, setLupin once more to read the contents.

_ Sunday August 20, 1985_

_ 16, Hyde Park Square, _

_City of Westminster,_

_London_

_Dear Sir, _

_If you may excuse the brusque and unfortunately direct nature of this letter, despite our not having been previously introduced, I had hoped to consult with you on a matter of certain urgency._

_Having recently come into the guardianship of a young cousin of mine, I have, as acting parent to the child, been led to take steps in regards to his education, as he has now reached an age when such matters should be considered. Unable to take up the task satisfactorily myself, due to my completing my Runes Apprenticeship for the next seventeen months yet, I naturally thought to search for a private tutor, which is why I address myself now, to you._

_Though you have doubtless heard little of me, if at all, I was fortunate enough myself to be made aware of you by my cousin, James Potter, and his wife, Lily, during our unfortunately much too short acquaintance in the early months of their marriage. Though James' and Lily's untimely deaths have since denied me the pleasure of a formal introduction to you or any of their friends, I was then quickly treated with a complete account of the Hogwarts years of seventy-one to seventy-eight, in which you, among others, naturally had an important role to play. James' as well as Lily's presentation of you as an intelligent and serious, as well as kindhearted man left me with the fullest conviction of both the integrity of your character and your quality as a wizard of learning._

_Knowing from James that you had taken up tutoring students after Hogwarts, and having myself looked up both your past school results and references from former employers, I find myself hoping you would be interested in taking up my ward as a charge._

_I am aware, in asking you this, that my request is a particular one, and needing considerable thought, for the reasons that follow. _

_Hadrian, the young boy himself, has just turned five years old this past month, and would accordingly still be learning the basics as of yet, namely reading and writing. Firm in my belief that one should have a full understanding of the world around them, I would then have wanted for his further education to encompass both Muggle and Wizarding basics, namely History and Society of both cultures, mathematics, and perhaps a little Latin to help him later on in his spell-work or introductory information in his future subjects at Hogwarts. _

_This considerable undertaking, I am fully aware, could hardly be done well in any small amount of time, and would very possibly lead up to Hadrian's first year at school. It was in the search of someone that could provide both the required capability and time for this task that I turned to you. Sure of the former, due to repeated assurances I have had of your efficiency and professionalism from any I have asked, I had hoped, in writing to you, to receive confirmation of the second._

_My offer, I know, is one of weight, and not one to be considered lightly. In accordance, sir, I have judged it only right to assure you that in the case of your much hoped for acceptance, every step toward ensuring your complete comfort shall readily be taken, and endure for the whole duration of your employ. This would naturally encompass full accommodation and free passage in our town house, as well as anything in my power to facilitate the task you would be undertaking. _

_Should you perceive any obstacles that you feel should prevent you from accepting the post, I would be happy to go over them with you, so that a solution may be provided forwith._

_Impatiently awaiting your reply, in the hope that our business might be concluded by the first of next month, I extend to you, sir, my sincerest regards._

_Yours respectfully, _

_Lord Caspian I. Peverell_

_Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell_

_Certified Defense Master and Duelist_

_Runes Apprentice_

As he had done many times in the last week, Lupin shook his head at the missive. Never in the close to seven years Remus had spent tutoring, had a wizard approached him without introduction for a tutoring job. Even then, it had been when Lily and James were still alive, and Sirius still considered a friend, and he met potential clients through them. And though, for argument's sake, he could consider the fact that his friends had, yet again, though indirectly, been the source of this offer, it did nothing to reduce the wonder of the situation.

Having long since confined his search for prospective students to the Muggle world due to the inescapable censure of the wizarding one, what would be his surprise when he was sought out not only by a wizard, but one of standing and very probable wealth. Far from an expert on wizarding nobility, Lupin was still well-versed enough to recognize an important name when he saw one, all the more surprising since it had not been heard for generations.

But for all the surprises of the man behind it, the greatest shock had remained the content itself of the letter. Such an offer, with so little inconvenience to him, if any, and everything arranged in his favour, was simply unheard of.

It was, simply, much too good to be real. Being requested to take charge of what was probably a young pureblood heir, and build the foundation of his education, after the string of lazy ignorants Lupin usually had to test his patience with, was surreal. Even more so, because it seemed in every aspect of the affair he was, as Peverell had seemed to judge, incredibly well suited for the post. Experience in tutoring, good references, the required knowledge in both Muggle and magical studies…the list of reasons for accepting went on.

But single, yet inexorable, stood the ever sufficient reason for his refusal, upon which he was decided, despite how little he wished it. The offer for settlement in his employer's home, extended with such kindness, only sealed his response. He could not risk himself living in a home with a man, and especially a young boy he would repeatedly place in danger, the same danger that he was exposed to at around the same age.

So preoccupied was he in the meanderings of his muddled thoughts, that Lupin did not notice, until quite a few minutes had passed, that he was being watched. A slight shadow fell over his form, and the clearing of a throat made him lift his head. The gentle smile of a fair face met him, deep silver-green eyes burring into his own amber gaze from a frame of dark woven hair.

"Dare I hope you would not be averse to some company? I could not stay over there; I am afraid crowds make me uncomfortable." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the overrun bar behind him as he said this, a playful look of despair coming over his features. Lupin smiled softly. "You have chosen a poor time to visit _The Cauldron_ then, I'm afraid, if you wished to avoid a crowd. But by all means, sit wherever you like."

"Thank you. Though I must say, despite the commotion, both you and I, over here, are managing pretty well in terms of avoiding it." Lupin nodded, still smiling.

"There is much to be said for a minimum of seclusion."

A soft chuckle responded this remark. "Indeed."

His cordial manner, Lupin decided, was sincere, and against all logic invited to immediate comfort and confidence. It was in truth both comforting and discomfiting, a feeling he had only ever experienced in the presence of one wizard before now, and not of the most trifling. His calm and steady gait, concealing a hidden wisdom and power behind his eyes, reminded him strongly of a younger version of Albus Dumbledore, though with no evidence of the sugar addiction. He was sure in that moment however, that even under the careful scrutiny of Dumbledore's gaze had he never felt so vulnerable. "I must admit, that I did not come here to frequent the crowds either", he put in finally, not knowing what else to say, but wishing to dispel the unnerving silence. He gave a small sigh, sparing a quick glance in direction of the letter, which was still foremost in his mind. This, however small movement, was not missed by his new companion, whose brows furrowed slightly. "No grave troubles, I hope? I fear I may have to apologise for my unwelcome intrusion."

"No, no." Lupin answered hastily, shaking his head in denial. "By all means, a distraction is most welcome, though I know not whether it is judicious. I've puzzled over the matter so much during the last few days, a reprieve from the affair would be most welcome, and yet I know I must think on this carefully."

An understanding smile met him in response. "I know the feeling. " A pause. "Maybe you need an outside opinion. A neutral point of view, if you will."

Lupin appeared surprised.

His companion laughed. "I did not mean to alarm you. You just looked like you might need a listening ear."

Lupin nodded slowly. He was by no means a wary man; he definitely was not along the same level of paranoia of Alastair Moody, or anywhere near it. He did not however, make it a habit of engaging complete strangers with the subject of his life choices and opportunities. Especially ones so mysterious as this one, well dressed and with a proud stature, his entire gait screaming control and power. Yes, very like Dumbledore indeed; while possessing underneath something altogether threatening that the old man did not possess. Or perhaps threatening was not the right word. It was something, certainly that brought alarm, yet did not feel evil or even bad. Whatever it was, however, it left no doubt in Lupin's mind that this was not a man to take lightly. It was all the more unsettling because even with this, his presence also exuded such an aura of trust and peacefulness, that even under the weight of his gaze, Lupin found himself comfortable.

He sighed again. "I've had a job offer."

He was met with a small laugh. "Is that all? I expected, from your grave manner, nothing less than the announcement of someone's death! Dear me!" He seemed to scrutinize Lupin carefully. "What is it about the offer that poses a problem? Surely if you do not want the position, you can reject it?"

A weary smile graced Lupin's slightly worn features. "That is precisely the problem. I want the position. I must admit that it is perfect in every aspect I have determined."

For some reason, this remark seemed to provoke something of a smirk in his companion, but it was so slight he might have imagined it." He sighed again. "I want it, but I can not take it, whether I want to or not."

A slight raise of a dark brow, cut near the eye by a faint scar met this remark. "I am afraid, good sir, that I do not understand. You claim this position to be perfect, and that you would desire to take it, but cannot?" His head cocked slightly to the side. "Unless of course its benefits would only come at the cost of the greater advantages of your current position. Though if I may sir, be it a question of what you want and what you need, in this case I am inclined towards the former."

Lupin's smile persisted. "Things are more complicated than that. In truth, though it little matters, the offer is extremely generous, and the one who extends it most gracious in his proposition. I would not be losing anything."

"Then why hesitate? Indeed, you don't seem to actually want to hesitate. It appears clear to me you're even quite certain of what you want, however much you're trying to convince yourself to refuse. But, in all honesty, from your tale, I can not at all see _why_ you're trying so hard to refuse. I hardly believe you manage to fully see why yourself, else you would have written a negative reply already, instead of puzzling over the matter here."

Lupin's face grew slightly more stern, though his expression was more directed towards the situation than the wizard he addressed.

"There are some obstacles that are sometimes too great to withstand."

"Is that so? Yet you explained, a moment ago, that your supposed employer was ready to extend every advantage to your acceptance. Surely a man so determined would not begrudge you a few concessions if the hurdles you face are indeed so grievous."

Once again, Lupin turned graver. "However determined one may be, I can hardly expect him….that is to say that there are some matters in which no one can prevent the outcome. There are problems which I can not see anyone ready to take on."

There was a pause here, and something sly appeared in the man's face, while its lines paradoxically appeared more serious. Lupin was quick to understand why.

"It is a good thing then, that I am not just anyone, if you'll forgive my arrogance in claiming it, and that I mean my word when I say I'll do anything I can to overcome whatever obstacles you may perceive to accepting. I must insist, moreover, knowing your approval of the position, in accepting nothing less of you than to take up the offer."

Lupin opened his mouth and closed it again, looking at his companion strangely, comprehension dawning on his face as well as a slight blush. He had been masterfully ambushed.

This time, the smug look in reaction to his own loss of countenance was evident, and Lupin did not attempt to wave it off with his imagination.

" I presume?" the smirking personage continued, extending his hand. "I must say, you have not much changed from James' pictures of Hogwarts."

This, sadly, was hardly true. Time, and difficulty to come by steady income (for tutoring was by nature very irregular and dependent on demand), had made Lupin greyer and more worn, giving him a look of one much older than his years. His clothes, too, were shabbier, and his general air, which had been uplifted in the presence and with the support of friends, had only receded all the more in their absence.

Lupin took the offered hand as its proprietor continued, "Caspian Peverell. We've corresponded of course."

Lupin nodded, reasonably steadily. "Of course." And then suddenly, after that, he seemed at a loss of what to say. How do you start a conversation you have unknowingly started already? Especially considering Peverell was absolutely nothing he expected him to be. Fortunately, or perhaps, for the success of his current intentions, unfortunately, the recently identified Lord spoke again, filling the silence himself.

"I was very pleased to receive your request for a meeting, having suffered several days impatiently awaiting your reply. I was afraid, at first, that you were not interested." The smirk returned, but it was mixed somehow with a wide mirthful grin, and was not truly unkind, even if it did irritate Lupin slightly. Forgetting Dumbledore, Lupin was now strongly reminded of James Potter in his most devious moments. Well, he mentally scoffed, they are cousins after all. Merlin help me if I have to deal with a second one!

Peverell smiled all the more as he went on. "I will admit I was overjoyed when you confessed to finding the position so to your liking."

Lupin frowned slightly. "I also explained I could not take it."

"Ah, no, you see, you did not. You expressed the concern that certain employers would be limited in the extent to which they would grant concessions to an employee. I thought I had established since, that I was not of them."

Lupin smiled ruefully. "I can not take it."

"I don't believe that, and as I said before, neither do you. Otherwise you would not have allowed me this interview; it would have been simple enough to pen me a negative reply. As it is, I am determined to hire you: you want the job, and I am determined to take you on, whatever the obstacles, what more can I offer?"

Lupin shook his head. "It is not a question of offering. Your proposal was indeed extremely generous, overly so. But it does not change my answer."

"Why will you not let me attempt to solve the problem?" Peverell inquired, after a time, his voice less adamant.

"You can not..."

But he was interrupted. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Lupin, but I think you underestimate, however undeserved and unwarranted it may be, the influence and power a name can hold. True, I generally despise such recourse as using my name to get by, but should it be necessary, I assure you '_anything in my power'_ is quite considerable. So why, even with the promise of all this do you persist in refusing something we both know you want?"

Lupin frowned. "It is not a question of a name. Or of whatever you are ready to do to ensure my agreement. It is whether you, indeed anyone would continue to want offering those things, once they are exposed to ….to my…..problem."

"Are you a criminal Mr. Lupin?"

The question caught him by surprise. "No."

"Are you a fledging Dark Lord, biding your time to exert your cruel supremacy over the unsuspecting inhabitants of Britain, and perhaps, who knows, the world?"

"No, but…."

"Are you in any way, _not_ the man of integrity and honour my cousin and his wife portrayed you to be, or the competent professional I heard of from your former employers?"

Lupin was silent here, but the blush on his face was answer enough. "Then I can see no obstacle, sir, to your hire. No," Here he had raised his hand to end the start of Lupin's protest. "I must say this. You have several times now, sir, alluded to the reaction of 'anyone'. As I have already said, this is not me. The questions I have posed to you now, had they been answered in the positive, would have been the only reasons for my objection. The only conclusion left available to me is that you expect rejection due to some expected prejudice. If that were indeed the case, I would have you know sir, that that has little bearing with me, nor should it have with anyone. Among the most powerful wizards of our age, both light and dark, more than one has been half-blooded. It is my understanding, that Hogwarts School, generally appreciated as a fine institution, has for some years had in her employ one of the most proficient duelists in the last century, and that he is reputed to be of part-goblin descent. My own childhood best friend, who incidentally beat every single pureblood which and wizard of her age in all but two subjects for seven years, was a muggleborn. No belief, ancestry, sexual affiliation or anything marking you as different, sir, could cause me to reject your employ, unless I find they put me or my nephew in jeopardy. And finally, sir, I would hope to value the opinion of my cousin- who had known you intimately for close to nine years at the time of his reference- , rather more so than the hordes of opinionated ignorant bigots who regrettably make up the fabric of magical Britain." Every word of his speech seemed to strike Lupin like a slap, though their positive intent was little registered. All the werewolf could think was that it was almost as if Peverell knew.

"I had thought you expected better of James then to betray you to an idiot, Moony."

And so he did.

That did it. Lupin slumped completely in his chair, utterly defeated.

"You know?"

Caspian Peverell smiled sadly. "Know? Of what? Your condition? Yes. What of it? If you are competent and fit three hundred and fifty three days of the year, I do not see that prevents me from hiring you."

He was granted with a rather hard look. "And you would be willing to expose your ward to that? You would be ready to consciously place him in danger?" The questions were posed with more agressivity than intended, and came out as rather hard accusations. Peverell's countenance hardened in turn, and Lupin regretted the acidity of his address.

"Do not question my care for my nephew, Lupin." The silver emerald eyes seemed to blaze suddenly, and it seemed to Lupin he was caught in wreath of green flames. "I take and have taken every measure I can to ensure his safety and happiness. I now look to provide him with a satisfactory education. It is to do so that I turned to you. Do not put your self-pity on me."

Lupin's remorse faltered at the last words. "I can not live in the same house as an innocent boy!" he nearly growled.

Peverell's eyes were still hard, but softened slightly. "You were young I suppose, when you were bitten?"

Lupin scowled, but did not answer. It seemed Peverell had hit home.

"I am sorry, sir. I can not presume to know what bearing the weight of such an affliction is, it would be a lie. But it is not so to tell you I do know what it is to be scorned and rejected through no fault of my own that I can identify, and because of matters I had no control over. That does not mean you let them do it. You are, Mr. Lupin, an exceptionally competent man, and as I have already stated, I will not lose you to prejudice. You denounce the danger. I told you already, I have means. I can supply a cellar, carefully warded, to keep you secluded on the full moon. I can even, providence willing, hope to find you some means of accessing the Wolfsbane potion, or at least am attempting to. But I would first need your consent.

Lupin was calm again, but still reasonably defeated. "The Wolfsbane potion is incredibly expensive, and new enough that few can make it. I have heard, moreover, that it is incredibly hard to make. That is a feeble hope."

Peverell smiled. "I already know someone capable of making it; I just need a way to convince him. In the meantime, that still leaves you with the cellar. I am rather proficient myself at calming and soothing draughts. I know well enough that they would not work as well in your transformed state, but I they can help, and the rest I can manage with wards."

Lupin considered him searchingly. "Why are you doing this? Why me? I understand well enough your reluctance to cede to prejudice, though I do not necessarily comprehend the full logic behind it, but why me in the first place? Why so determined to hire me?" His gaze grew suspicious again. "Though you protest to want me in spite of being a werewolf, I fear you chose me because of it. I do not take charity."

He was alarmed by the smile that answered that statement. "I would not expect you to. But that was not my intention. I was sincere in my commendation of you, as I'm sure those I've asked about you were to me. I would not give credit where undue. As to the motivation behind your employ, I have already given it. I have assurance of your competence and character; from the very two people I would most seek approval in this matter."

Lupin's brow creased. "Lily and James…? What? I don't understand."

Once more, Peverell's expression lightened. "My dear sir, who better to point me towards a tutor for Hadrian Potter that his own parents? And who better to teach him than their trusted friend?"

Once more, Lupin was left speechless. Caspian laughed and thought to himself wryly that after this, the meeting had definitely been worth the detour from dropping his report off for Hayes.

One problem down, several million to go.

Next operation: Wolfsbane…


	9. Ch8 Potion Brewing and Careful Treading

**Chapter 8 Potion Brewing and Careful Treading**

_Wednesday, August 30 1985, Early morning, 16 Hyde Park Square, London_

Cloudy swirls of multicoloured steam filled the room; amber, crimson and jade vapours rising from their large bubbling cauldrons. One of these, the nearest to the window, from where it was catching the faint dawn rays of the early morning, suddenly started emitting bright gold sparks, the legs of the magical container wobbling under the pressure.

Ever alert, the attention of one Caspian Peverell rose to contemplate the origin of the disturbance, all the while continuing his counter-clockwise stirs in the light pink concoction before him. At the sixth stir, he put the ash stirrer down, temporarily abandoning his post to rush to the agitated pewter cauldron, promptly throwing in the handful of red mistletoe berries that had been set out next to it.

The intensity of its brew's frothing dropped immediately, replaced by a gentle simmer, while the shade evolved slowly from blood red to cerulean.

Satisfied, Caspian returned to his previous position, the now more purple than pink glow of his Elixir shimmering slightly. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he proceeded to the remaining four potion preparations set out on his ceramic tables,sometimes slightly adjusting the intensity of flames, sometimes adding some ingredient or other.

_Severus would be proud._

Caspian snorted. As if. His mentor would have contemplated the scene with a stern glare and grumbled something about competent potioneers being capable of surveying twice as many cauldrons at once, before criticizing the precision of every last one of Caspian's movements.

A small sigh sounded in the cool air.

He knew he probably had not done half as well as either Severus or Lysander would have, but he was no Potions' Master, and in their current absence, it would simply have to make do.

After all, the first was currently only interested in him as the anomaly that had triggered his spies' senses during their brief encounter in the apothecary's two weeks ago. Lysander for his part, did not yet exist in this timeline, and even provided the current Draco Malfoy someday became him, he was presently only just a quarter of the age he needed to be to even consider a Potions' apprenticeship.

No he'd have to make do with his own work.

Whatever its quality, he knew it was at least as good, if not oftentimes better than anything he'd get in commerce without resorting to exorbitant prices.

Brewing, moreover, though admittedly one of his later joys in life, was restful to him in the anxiety and agitation currently clouding his existence. There was something soothing about it somehow, which particularly appealed to Caspian at the moment, despite the time-consuming and sleep depriving nature of the activity.

It was a stressful thing it turned out to make yourself solely responsible for the reformation of an entire timeline. He knew that to make a true impact, as well as one that would have a lasting effect, he needed to plan all of his actions carefully and patiently for roughly the next fifteen years.

For a brief period of time he had actually managed to delude himself into thinking it would be much easier to rush in recklessly and destroy the Horcruxes all in one go, before tracking down Voldemort's wraith form. But then he'd remember it was more complicated than that. However much he wanted to rush in like the Gryffindor he was at heart, he couldn't. He had an opportunity to do good here, as long as he took careful consideration and planning. There was so much at stake not to. He was responsible for Hadrian now, as well as his mission. More than just Hadrian, the whole wizarding world deserved better. It would not do to just sweep Voldemort under the rug and let the state of things remain the same, someone could easily take his place.

There were Death Eaters roaming free that had to be brought to justice. There was the corruption and prejudice that riddled the wizarding world that someone had to deal with. All that would take time and patience, but it had to be done.

The hard truth was that if he was going to manage anything worthwhile he needed to tread carefully. Lay foundations, build influence, gain experience, prepare Hadrian…

Brewing made all of that disappear. He did not forget any of it, not really, but the occupation demanded enough of his concentration to place everything else on a more distant plane of his mind. If he managed to stock his potions' cabinet in the meantime, so much the better.

In truth, Caspian was rather disappointed in himself for having waited this long to see to it. Even had he not been planning several years' worth of steady tracking, retrieving and destroying some of the darkest objects in the History of wizardkind, as well as fighting countless practitioners of dark magic, no self-respecting Defense Master could avoid having such a store at his disposal. Especially one in the employ of a renown cursebreaker. The fact that he was capable of brewing most(if not all) of them himself where others might have had to rely on owl-orders made his tardiness in the matter even less excusable.

Another reason for personal preference in his own work was the nature of some of the potions he needed . None, strictly speaking , could be qualified as dark, but more than one possessed rare ingredients, or was reputed as complicated to prepare. This, as with anything else of rarity in the wizarding world, was regarded with gossipy speculation and prejudice.

Others, being used as means to deal with Dark magic, were justifiably light, but required a deep understanding of the Dark arts to make and use properly and could just as easily bring suspicion on him.

Such an understanding would be true of any Defense Master, Caspian argued to himself, grumbling, but he knew he had to be careful. He was an unknown so far, and quite the mystery. That made him an object of interest as soon as he caught someone's eye, as well as a very vulnerable prey to speculation and gossip. He could not afford someone of Rita Skeeter 's ilk catching on to anything about him that could be portrayed in a negative light. He knew only too well how vicious public opinion was when it turned on you, and he could not afford it. Too much was at stake.

Already, some of the big fish in the figurative pond were swimming a little too close for comfort. Snape was already tailing him every opportunity he got nowadays, and though it would inevitably lessen now that Hogwarts was opening up for the year, he did not lure himself into believing Snape's curiosity had abated.

Snape involving himself in Caspian's affairs also implicated both Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy's respective involvement. That last made Caspian boil.

The Hadrian Potter that had been, in that distant life in the future, had lost so much to that man…Dumbledore might be too inquisitive for his own good, as well as a confirmed meddler, but his intentions and subsequent courses of action, if sometimes objectionable, were always rooted in good rather than evil. Lord Malfoy was another story altogether. Attracting his attention too soon could lead to a death sentence. Not to mention he could easily fish for information at the Ministry, which would result in bunglers like Fudge paying him close attention as well.

Another sigh sounded.

Yet another reason to seek introduction to another member of the Wizengamot's Assembly of Lords. Ideally he should do so before the next gathering of the Wizengammot, which following the tradition of occurring the first Saturday of the month, was set to take place on September second, in merely three days' time.

Damn it.

It would have to be a relatively influent individual if he hoped to stand his own against Malfoy's power within the Ministry, but not a controlling one either. Someone Caspian could trust.

That, straight away, excluded all of Fudge's goons. He would prefer, also, to limit the exposure to confirmed supporters of Dumbledore, for various reasons.

His deep respect and even love for his former Headmaster, whom he had looked up to as a grandfather for most of his youth, did not prevent his wariness in front of some of his actions and their consequences. Hadrian Potter had forgiven his mentor in the future, and Caspian was sure their fight in this present would equally become a common one, but he would rather keep his own allegiance for the time being.

The solution, of course, was obvious, but the means of achieving it less so. Avoiding alliance with either the Minister or the Headmaster suggested tying himself to the middle ground, which meant Amelia Bones. He knew enough of the witch to affirm that her loyalty was to Wizarding Britain first, the Ministry second and Fudge last, which in itself was promising.

He knew her to respect and heed Dumbledore's opinion, as would most who were not fools, but she did not simper at his heal like a lost puppy , as Fudge had done until the end of his fourth year. Moreover, her serious, fair, hard-working and efficient nature, as well as her sharp intelligence and incorruptibility were all widely known . Other than that, his knowledge failed.

Susan Bones' aunt had unfortunately died too soon in the original timeline for him to know her personally, or to determine who her contacts were.

His limited dealings with the Assembly of Lords from the few short months as Lord Potter before his self-imposed disappearance let him suppose his best chance lay with the more neutral parties. Of these, the more affluent and the more likely to stand independent from Fudge were probably the Macmillan, McDougal, Greengrass and Ackerley lords.

The Macmillans were firm believers in justice, but too pompous for Caspian's liking, and very conservative, despite a firm belief in equal rights. Ackerly he knew little of, but suspected a too great dependence on Dumbledore for his own comfort. That left McDougal and Greengrass. The Mcdougals were barely known to him. Cyrus Greengrass, on the other hand, was renown throughout the wizarding community, and he had come to know of Severus' fierce pride in his Daphne as one of his students. Despite their stereotypical Slytherin heritage, mixed in with occasional Ravenclaws every generation or so, Caspian knew that when it came down to it, they would not adhere to Voldemort's propaganda. The family had all been killed during the Dark Side's year of power in the time of his Horcrux trek with Ron and Hermione, with the exception of the two girls who had both died in the final battle. Their deaths had been consequences of their refusal to join the Death Eater ranks. They were definitely a family that could hold their own to Fudge or Malfoy.

He smiled a grim smile. Politics. They complicated everything. But they were also a non-avoidable hurdle in his plans.

He chuckled bitterly as he started ladling translucent blue Dreamless sleep into a carefully _unbreakable_ warded potion bottle. As if he did not have enough to do already. Between his cautious planning for the Horcrux hunt, establishing himself in the wizarding world; his apprenticeship and Hadrian, he had his hands full.

The next warded bottle made its way into his hands, ruby red glutinous liquid pouring slowly into its depths. Progressing to the third cauldron, the pewter one this time, wherein lay the cerulean tinted Calming Draught Caspian had been stirring earlier, a slight scuffling caught his attention.

Ladle still in hand, Caspian smiled widely at the sight of his sleepy-eyed nephew. His hair was even messier than was usual, and the rumbled green pyjamas they had bought ten days ago in Diagon alley indicated he had just gotten out of bed.

Caspian was overjoyed to see him, as always, but was especially heartened by the very transparent wonder with which the little boy was following his guardian's actions.

"Can I watch?" he asked in a breathy whisper, as if scarcely daring to hope his wish would be granted.

Caspian's smile only spread wider. "Of course. I'd be thrilled for a bit of company, just be careful when you move around. I've warded all the glass, and the cauldrons are off the fire, but some of the potions have to be handled carefully."

Hadrian nodded eagerly, then proceeded to ask a hundred questions about each potion. Caspian was highly amused. This might slow him down slightly, but the enthusiasm on the boy's face was completely worth it.

"What's that one?" came the exited voice, Hadrian's finger pointing to the last cauldron, one made of stainless steel, from where a very watery brew sparkled silver . Its dazzling light reflected in Hadrian's eyes, creating stars in his eyes.

" What's it do? What's in it? Why does it sparkle? Can I make it?"

The flurry of questions came out, Hadrian's curiosity finally starting to win out over the shy reserve the Dursleys had drilled into him.

Caspian chuckled warmly, conjuring up a stool before the ceramic workstation and inviting Hadrian to pull himself on top of it. "Come here and I'll show you. It's pretty obvious you won't be satisfied with any short answers."

Hadrian looked slightly sheepish at that remark, before catching the evident humour in Caspian's expression and relaxing. He struggled to climb into the seat for a second, his feet hanging high off the ground when he finally managed it, but he did not let that bother him. Head comfortably resting in the folded arms he'd laid out on the table, Hadrian Potter's complete attention was for Caspian,

who was pointing to the steel cauldron.

"That's a type of anti-venom I've perfected myself. Its derived from the Classic Antidote for common poisons, but is more potent. It's also suited to counter some of the more lethal poisons out there, particularly various snake venoms."

"What about a 'bozor' though? You said they saved from most poisons?"

"You mean Bezoars?"

Hadrian nodded. "Those shrivly stones you said came from goat tummies."

Caspian nodded, a wave a pride washing over him at Hadrian remembering that detail.

"Very good. And quite right too. Indeed, bezoars are a strong agent against poisoning, which is why they're more often than not a base ingredient in antidotes, including this one" His head jerked to the silvery liquid. "They're generally not a permanent cure on their own though, and for some toxins, do little more than stabilize the progression of their effect."

Hadrian nodded. "So if you have a bezoar at hand, it's best to eat it, in the hope that it'll slow the poison long enough for you to find a better cure?"

Caspian beamed. "Exactly."

Hadrian grinned at the approval in his uncle's voice, while the latter continued.

"As for the coulour you asked about, most antidotes try to reach as clear and transparent a consistence as possible. Phoenix tears, which incidentally are the most potent natural antidote known to wizards, are completely transparent, even clearer than water. This silvery shimmer is a close enough substitute, and I'm hoping it'll be even better with a small contribution from Regina."

"Regina?" Hadrian looked puzzled. He loved his uncle's snake and found her really intelligent (though it had startled him at first that he could understand her) but he didn't see what she could have to do with a potion.

"She's a kingsnake, Harry", started Caspian, catching his look of bewilderment, " They're reputed for their immunity to most snake venoms, due to their preying on many of them. Magical kingsnake saliva is also said to have healing and soothing properties to it, though much less powerful than that of phoenix tears."

The next half-hour was spent in a thorough exposé of each of the other potions Caspian had just finished bottling, from the utility of Vitalitas Elixir, to the difficult brewing of Blood Replenisher. When they got to the Calming Draught, Hadrian recognized the brew, having taken some quite a few times. When he proceeded to faultlessly detail each of its properties and effects without a single hint from Caspian, the latter revealed something which made his heart pound with glee.

"Your mum would be proud of you for knowing all that, you know. She was an excellent potioneer herself, only second to her talent in Charms."

Hadrian nearly fell off the top of his stool in his mirth.

"Mum was good in Potions?" He could scarcely believe it.

Caspian smiled. "Yes she was. One of her best friends from her childhood was really talented in the subject and I know they competed every year to better each other in class. They'd experiment to see if they could improve the original brews, and I know those experiments paid off more often than not." He'd gotten that titbit out of Snape a few months into his defense training, while on the run with Lysander.

"That's wicked." Hadrian said in awe.

Caspian chuckled again.

"It certainly was. But that's your mum for you. Always experimenting and innovating. Many were convinced she'd complete her Charms mastery by her twenty-third birthday before she had you."

"Charms? Why not Potions?"

"Oh, your mum was brilliant at Potions, but she was unsurpassed in Charms. Though admittedly Potions would have been her second choice for a Mastery. I wouldn't have been surprised if the Unspeakables came knocking at her door, she would have been a priceless addition to their research team."

"Unspeakables?"

"Semi-independent ministry workers belonging to Department of Mysteries. I suppose you could equate it to the secret service, though not nearly as militarized. No one really knows what they get up to, and their contracts are tied down by some of the most powerful oaths magic can weave."

Caspian let Hadrian ponder this as he turned to the last potion, the Dreamless sleep. "Fights away nightmares," Caspian explained, "but has the major drawback of being addictive, which is why it's often diluted, or slipped in food in small doses. I know St. Mungo's also uses it in combination with a numbing charm as a form of general anesthetic…"

He stopped at the sight of Hadrian's fixed gaze. He was looking at the last potion with a strange look Caspian didn' like. One of both uncertainty and longing.

"What is it Harry?" enquired Caspian, frowning.

"That…that potion..," he started hesitantly, "It stops bad dreams?"

Caspian cringed. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. For the first time that morning he studied the little boy carefully. His face was slightly pale, and his eyes a bit puffy. It wasn't overt but it was there. He mentally cursed not paying more attention to his nephew's haggard appearance when he came in.

He looked at his watch.

_Six fifty seven A.M._

Too early for him to be up, especially considering they'd been chatting for a while. His frown deepened. "Harry?" he asked tentatively, yet in a tone that required a response, "why'd you get up so early? Couldn't you sleep?"

His voice was calm and far from accusatory, yet Hadrian seemed to cringe slightly, and he didn't answer.

Caspian's frown of concern deepened.

"You're having nightmares again aren't you?"

Hadrian's eyes met his, and the anxious look he found there was answer enough.

Caspian let out a deep sigh. "You should have said that straight away, Harry."

Hadrian's stance stayed mostly the same, but a grain of defiance appeared. "I didn' wan' 'o worry you. What's it matter if I can't sleep?" A small smile graced his face. "It's more interestin' being here anyways." He looked around as he said this, once more taking in the assorted jars, cauldrons and potions that filled the room. Not everything was cleaned up in its proper place, as Caspian had only just finished fixing up his basement into a satisfactory lab, so there was something fascinating to look at whichever way he turned. Piled cauldrons of gold, steel, pewter and bronze, countless instruments, vast collections of ingredients Caspian had either ordered or hunted down himself.

Caspian shook his head gently, reaching over to the small child and pulling him into a hug. "I'm your guardian Harry, I'm supposed to worry about you. As for you sleeping, it is definately important, even if I do like telling you about potions."

"That's what Rege said", admitted the child half-heartedly.

Caspian gave a wan smile. "She's one smart snake isn't she?" he shook his head and then turned back to Hadrian, squeezing his shoulder firmly, and threading his fingers through his messy hair.

"Which one this time, Harry?" he enquired softly.

"Voldemort." Was the simple answer. "Green light and his laugh." His eyes searched and found his uncle's. "I never know what it is, but that's always what wakes me up. It's horrible." His voice was steady but he was shivering slightly.

Caspian didn't blame him, he still remembered that dream.

"I don't doubt it. That green light is from one of the most foul magics ever known and if you ever see it coming at you, I want you to duck right away. Preferably behind a physical barrier." The innocent green orbs met the wizened silvery emerald and the boy nodded.

"That isn't a dream is it?" he asked suddenly. "It's a memory, right? From the night my parents died ."

There was no question there, it was a statement. Caspian nearly swore out loud. Damn kid, it was impossible to get one over him, he caught on everything. He should know, he'd always been good a piecing things together himself; it was instinct.

He considered his answer. He couldn't lie, Harry would see through it. He didn't want to tell the truth either though.

He wished he could protect Hadrian indefinitely from the harsh cruelty of the world that he was too young to deal with. But he couldn't. He had been in Hadrian's place; literally. Treating him like glass would only make it more probable for him to shatter.

Caspian did not want Hadrian's innocence to lead him to his death as it had nearly done so many times for him.

"Yes."

"And the green light? That's what killed them?"

Caspian smiled grimly. This kid was too smart for his own good.

"Yes." He said simply, but did not elaborate. Hadrian nodded again, understanding he wouldn't get more out of his uncle on this particular subject.

A long pause followed, heavy with the weight of what had just been discussed.

Hadrian thought back to his nightmare once more and shivered violently. That dream, more than any other, had always terrified him; waking him in the middle of the night in sweat, trembling and unable to get a wink more of sleep. Now, he knew it was not just a dream, it was real. The little boy felt sick.

It wasn't fair. Why did the only memory of his parents have to be so horrifying? Delayed anger rose in the pit of his stomach. Nothing. He had nothing left of them but the flash of light that brought their deaths and the maniacal laugh of their murderer. How was it justified that he could not retain one recollection of his happiness with his parents, but that he could remember year after year of misery at the Dursleys? He frowned suddenly and turned to look at Caspian, as if just remembering something.

"Uncle Caz?"

"Yes?"

"When Voldemort killed mum and dad, why'd I go to the Dursleys? You told me when you came to Privet Drive that you couldn' get me 'cause you were out of the country and didn' know about me, but what about others? You said Aun' Petunia was that horrible to me because she doesn' understand and fears magic."

_As well as being jealous of it, yes, _thought Caspian inwardly.

"If she did, and Uncle Vernon isn' much better (here Caspian snorted)then why send me there in the first place?" His voice wavered slightly. "Did no one wan' me?"

Caspian squeezed his nephew's arm firmly in reassurance, before lifting his chin to meet his gaze once more. "As far as anyone knew child, that sad excuse of an aunt of yours and her family were your only living blood relatives left. Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I have little doubt, would gladly have raised you, but they were killed in a car accident a few months before your birth. I'd imagine that is where Petunia took her inspiration for that ridiculous story about your parents supposed accident."

"And dad's parents?"

"Charlus and Dorea Potter doted on their son, because he was their only child, and as their first grandchild you would probably have had the same treatment. But as far as I know they both were killed during Voldemort's first rise to power, towards the end of your parents' sixth year. I know it hit James particularly hard."

"As for the Peverells, we had practically erased ourselves from existence. I myself was not aware of having any living relations until about roughly six or seven years ago, which coincides with your parents' wedding. As everything was so secretive, and precise records hidden or destroyed, it was difficult to determine much, but eventually I was able to deduce that a certain James Henry Potter was a relatively close cousin of mine. When I met and got to know your parents, they were only just married, and even if by the time I left Lily might already have been pregnant with you, they were not aware of it yet so I was not aware of your existence until much later."

Hadrian nodded. Caspian had mentioned something to this effect in passing already.

"But you said Mum and Aun' Petunia never got on with each other. So why'd they send me to her? If I didn't have any direct family to take me in, surely there was someone else?"

Caspian's brow grew dark. "You're right of course. I would be very much surprised if Lily had even considered trusting you to Petunia. Lily was not a spiteful person generally (though she could hold a mean grudge) but she had long stopped deluding herself of her sister's feelings towards her. I think it broke her slightly that, to tell you the truth; the fact she did not feel she could trust her own sister with you. I understood they were once quite close once, before Lily found out she was a witch. Still, the reason you were left with them was that no one else could take you."

"No one?" Harry cried out furiously.

Caspian shook his head sadly. "Out of the closest of Lily's friends after Hogwarts, Marlene McKinnon had been killed in a raid, and Alice Longbottom, who I believe was your godmother, as well as her husband Frank were attacked viciously around the same time as your parents, so that neither were in condition to take care of you."

_Or their own son unfortunately. Poor Neville_.

"That was already two options down. Your godfather meanwhile, who incidentally was one of your father's closest friends from school, was the first on the scene at your parents' home in Godric's Hollow, and I very much believe it was him who found you and freed you from the wreckage. From what I've pieced together, he was met by someone sent from the Order of the Phoenix, who convinced him that you would be safer in their care."

"Order of the what?"

"Phoenix. They were the organization your parents and all their close friends fought with during the war."

"If all my parents' friends were part of the Order, why didn't they let him take me? And why'd he give me up? Didn' he wan' me?"

Caspian hesitated slightly before answering. He did not want to get into the whole of that mess tonight, or have Hadrian feeling badly about his godfather.

"I didn't know your godfather Hadrian, but I know enough of him and his friendship with James to know he would never abandon you. Not consciously or willingly. He was a Gryffindor through and through and he stood by his friends. James saw him as his brother, and I have no doubt it was the same for him." Caspian assured.

"Then why?"

"I'm not sure. But if I had to guess I'd say guilt, as stupid as that is."

"Guilt?"

"He was your parents' closest friend, he naturally felt ready to lay his life for them. Knowing them dead because they had been duped by a traitor no one suspected must have been a blow. Of course he would feel responsible. His friends dead, and his godson orphaned, what could he do now. He's already convinced he's let down the three of you, he's at a loss what to do. Then the Order tell him they've got a plan to keep you safe as he's already blaming himself, he trust that they'll do more good by you than he possibly can. And so secure in the knowledge you're in the best hands possible, he now has the opportunity to act, to do something, anything, that might appease his despair. The logical conclusion is revenge. Voldemort gone, he sets off to track the traitor."

Hadrian frowned. "So what happened? Why didn' he come back?"

Caspian sighed. "His recklessness caught up with him. I don't think he thought it all through. His world had been completely turned upside down in the space of an evening, and he wasn't in any condition to force himself to think rationally." Caspian shook his head at the memory of his Godfather. Sirius had always needed to do something. He was not one for patience, or for standing idly by as those he loved were hurt. "He wanted revenge, and believing you safe, he set out to do the only thing he felt he could. " Caspian sighed grimly. "Turns out that decision cost him everything." The frustration he felt at being unable-even if temporarily- to clear Sirius' name came back in a rush. He knew very well that Percy Weasley had been the first Weasley to keep 'Scabbers' the rat as a pet, and that he had not done so until his first year at Hogwarts when the boy had found him in the back yard. But in this timeline, that would not happen for another couple of years or so, and Caspian could do nothing in the meantime.

Without Scabbers as evidence of Pettigrew's faked death, let alone the traitor's confession, he could not risk pushing for a trial. He did not yet have enough weight with anyone at the Ministry or the Wizengmmot to guarantee an outcome in his Godfather's favour.

Hadrian gulped down sadly.

"Anyone else?" He sounded slightly dejected, as if unsure he truly wanted the answer.

Caspian hesitated for a second and nodded.

"Yes. There was another friend of your parents from Hogwarts. He became friends with your father and godfather in school, and he and your Mother were prefects together for Gryffindor from their fifth year onwards. I'd imagine he was something of an honorary uncle to you."

"If they were so close, why didn't he take me?"

"He couldn't. He fell victim to a vicious curse when he was small, the dangerous nature of which left him an easy prey to the worst of wizarding prejudice. Your parents never let it keep them from befriending him of course, but public opinion if rumour of his condition spread would not have been as kind. Such a guardianship would have caused a scandal and the Ministry, bigoted, close-minded idiots that they are, would never have allowed it, and he was too honest a man to keep it out of his application as caregiver."

Hadrian was outraged. "That's completely unfair! If he wan'ed me, itt already makes him better than the Dursleys could ever be."

Caspian squeezed the boy's shoulder in comfort. "I agree. But I have to tell you Harry, though I'm certain he would have wanted you, I'm not entirely sure if he would have taken you in even had they allowed it."

At this, Hadrian jumped up, interrupting his uncle, hurt at the implication.

"Why not?"

A sympathetic smile answered him.

"He's been badly influenced by the prejudice of society; he probably would have convinced himself you were better without him, that he was protecting you, or acted out of some ridiculous belief that you would agree with the opinion of the masses."

Hadrian frowned. "That's stupid."

Caspian smiled. "Maybe. But he'd just lost all the people that had stood by him in his entire life, and been betrayed by another. He never was one to hope against all odds."

Harry hesitated for a minute. This was all a bit complicated for him, but he thought he understood. Would he not feel the same if something happened to Caspian? His new guardian was all that separated him from the Dursleys, and nothing scared him more than losing him. This honorary uncle of his had had all the luck in finding finding great friends that stood by him and they'd been taken away. So was it not too much to hope that he'd have that much luck again?

"Still stupid I think." He concluded categorically, "but I think I get it. I'm happy he had them then anyway, even if he doesn't anymore." He turned to face Caspian.

"Do you think I could meet him, and tell him I don't care? If you know where he is, that is. Then maybe he could tell me more about my parents."

Caspian chuckled. "He certainly could. The stories I've pieced together of your father and his two friends [Pettigrew was conveniently forgotten]! Quite the little group of mischief makers. James had fun recounting quite a few of their escapades to me while your mother rolled her eyes. But I'm sure such a close friend of theirs could tell you much better than I could. Not to mention much more."

Hadrian grinned. He loved hearing things about his parents, and the things they got up to when they were younger sounded particularly interesting.

"So you think I can meet him then?"

It was Caspian's turn to chuckle, both at Hadrian's ever-bubbling enthusiasm, and the irony of his question.

"I think we'll meet him sooner than you'd expect."

The small boy did not know just how close he was to getting his prized stories. Truth be told, Caspian was looking forward to these tales as well. He might have collected a few stories of from Severus about Lily during his apprenticeship, as well as various snippets from McGonagall and other Order members after the war, but this was an opportunity for him as well.


	10. Ch9 Associations of mutual benefit

**Chapter 9 Associations of Mutual Benefit**

_Thursday, August 3__1 1985, 8:15, Gringott's Wizarding bank_

Long spindly fingers retraced the delicately drawn out lines of the thick parchment on the table, the sharp edges of their almost claw-like nails scratching slightly as they met the familiar contours of the Egyptian coastline.

Their owner allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, a singular departure from his usual expressionless mask, a lapse currently allowed by his momentary security from the scrutiny of indiscrete observation.

Smirk still firmly in place, the finely cut square of parchment was gently pushed aside, a second that it had until now covered from view taking its place as the focus of attention. It was a letter, bringing to his attention concerns the 'seeing to' of which could not be delayed, but whose general content held much promise for Gringotts and through it, Gornuk. The paragraph that caught his eye was one that supported this.

…_by the second of the upcoming month, when the Wizengammot are scheduled to convene, a fact which makes our subsequent courses of action all the more urgent. It goes without saying that I must not fail to enter the arena on my own terms if I wish to evade the preying of both Malfoy and Dumbledore. We are also both undoubtedly aware that without the support of a strong party detached from either, this has little chance of happening…_

The smug expression morphed into a slightly eery grin as the gaze of the beady eyes followed the slanted scrawl.

The letter served only as another confirmation of his assessment of the situation. Everything was falling into place. Just as it should of course; failure was not an option here. It had never been. That lesson had been firmly instilled in him as far back as he could remember.

Diligence, efficiency, and cunning, the three pillars upon which his father had founded his education. Family history and later the necessities of his craft had added guardedness, but that went without saying.

This was a human's world his grandfather had once told him, and you had better always be a dozen steps ahead of them if you want to stay in it.

Needless to say, his grandfather had not had a very positive view of humans, whether wizard or no, the only difference being that wizards were armed with magic, and so more of a bother.

In truth, this opinion, which Gornag had repeated day in and day out in his advancing age, was not a particularly surprising one, or even one with which his grandson held much disapproval.

Indeed the latter's opinion in this matter coincided rather closely with that of his grandfather, in that he perceived the average human as both relatively slow-minded and deceitful by nature; you could trust them neither in capability nor intent.

For the most of them anyhow. There were, granted, a few exceptions to this rule, which admittedly made his indispensable interactions with the wand-carrying race more bearable.

This reflection brought him back to considering the letter. Its author could very well prove to be one of those few exceptions, considering the contents of his discourse.

Though he would never admit it for the life of him, Gornuk had been intrigued by the young wizard from the moment he first laid eyes on him.

No, that wasn't exact. His attention, as that of the entire council, had been called upon even before that, at his first request for an audience. Not only the request but its manner and formulation. Never had Gornuk met a wizard who spoke Gobbledegook. Understood a few words: yes. Managed to reproduce one or two phrases in a barely decipherable garble: yes. But one who spoke relatively fluently, with only minor mistakes and a more than passable grammar: never.

As for the Goblin Friendship…..such occurrences were the stuff of Goblin lore, legends of a past already forgotten in the childhood years of his ancestors. That pronouncement had left Gornuk skeptical to say the least. But the young wizard-lord had held his own. The Elder knew very well that it was no mean feat to submit to a blood test. The excruciating pain notwithstanding, it was impossible to cheat, and the cost should you attempt to do so was not worth the deception.

No, it would not do to deny he had been impressed, if only grudgingly and cautiously so. The wizard's subsequent identity, title and story had only complexified the issue. Whether for good or evil, it would not do to be too hasty in dealing with it. A partnership with a Defense Master apprenticing in Runes was not cast aside without careful consideration.

It had been easy and no trial to himself to offer some vague promise of shared association; how far they would go in actuality would depend on Peverell. There were few enough wizards for whom Gornuk held true respect for him to wish close interaction with any exception to the general lot of fools. All he needed was a trial, a means to test this young human's worth without having to deal with him himself. The answer had come as soon as the wizard asked to file his apprenticeship with the Ministry.

Let Hayes deal with him. The experienced Master would not be blindsided by anyone. Gornuk nodded to himself in remembrance. Yes, Hayes had been the perfect choice. After all, should he succeed in securing the temperamental master's hardly won approval, his own path was paved. Not that Peverell would have reason for regret . His plans with Hayes had always included Greengrass, and Peverell had admitted himself he needed a firm alliance to ground him against Malfoy and Dumbledore.

The letter made this clear enough.

…_My calculations have made clear in my mind that the best chance of this happening is through some means of introduction with Cyrus Greengrass, he alone of the more prominent parties could grant me access to Madam Bones without trapping me under Dumbledore or Malfoys' wings.… _

That the boy had suggested Greengrass himself had been a surprise, but a good one, and one that spoke well of his strategic and deductive skills, something further upheld in the rest of the missive.

…_It was a welcome discovery in my background research of him, - looking avidly for legitimate means to approach him- that I discovered his affiliation to Gringotts. Very convenient I must say. It should hardly strike me as mere coincidence that the very member of the Wizengammot I planned to approach happened to be jointly organizing a tomb-breaking expedition in Egypt for Gringotts bank with the same Runes Master that that bank's manager referred me to. Convenient for them also, is it not, that their principal Cursebreaker should have just taken on a parselmouth runes' apprentice, an invaluable asset in decoding ancient Egyptian wards?_

_I must admit to feeling slightly manipulated my friend, though why I should be surprised that you should play your cards several steps ahead I know not. After all, it is beneficial to both parties, and I certainly have no cause for grievance. Perhaps I should just content myself with our reaching the same conclusions, albeit mine at a much later time…_

Everything was to Peverell's credit. That he should have the initiative and the diligence to take up the background research himself was proof enough that Gringotts' association with him was not a waste of time. Slightly annoying, yet still gratifying in its own way was the fact that the young Lord had also not been dupe to his slight manipulation of events.

That he had anticipated benefitting of Peverell's eventual talents in his field for the Egyptian expedition was certain. All the better if he had the allure of Hayes and now Greengrass to push the wizard to do it. But Peverell hardly seemed to reprimand him for it; indeed he had seemed more amused than irked by the situation. And really why shouldn't he be? Peverell had conceded it himself; he had no cause to repine. Gornuk was also sure his correspondent was intelligent enough to know he had every advantage keeping himself under the Goblins' wing.

The fact was, and remained, that Peverell needed assistance. He was competent, extremely so, and much more than Gornuk had seen in many if any so young amongst his race. But there was only so much even a competent wizard could do while balancing precariously in front of the attentive gaze of the influential personages of the wizarding world. Not to mention doing so while harbouring and caring for the Potter child.

As it was, Peverell had seen rightly concerning the upcoming Wizengammot meeting. Matters were pressing for time if Peverell's return amongst the Assembly of Lords was to go according to plan, something that once again the young wizard had judged correctly.

…_If your plan is indeed heading where I imagine it is, it might be judicious to speed up its conclusion. Hayes has yet to even mention the project to me, and while I have no reason to believe he is anything other than satisfied with the quality of my work, you know better than I how reluctant to be impressed he can be. My only reassurance in this matter is that I would undoubtedly have heard from him had he been less than content. Saturday's meeting is now just two days hence and the urgency of Greengrass' introduction to me all the more pressing…_

A curt nod from the Goblin was the response to the close of the correspondence. He had acted swiftly, and according to what the situation required. His answer to Peverell's request would soon be arriving, and from there everything should fall into place.

Gornuk's head lifted up from the parchment once more, and turning to his right, let his studious gaze study the pendulum clock by the door briefly, informing him it was currently twenty to nine.

Just five minutes now.

Supposing, of course, they arrived on time.

Luckily for him, his two expected guests were also amongst the previously defined (yet limited) superior class of wizardkind in intelligence and efficiency (and really, neither Gornuk or any of the other Goblins of the Council would have allowed their business ventures to be so tied in with the them had they not been) but that was no guarantee of exactitude. There was never any guarantee with wizards, whatever their quality.

One could only hope for the best.

Not that he should have worried.

It was precisely a quarter to nine when four individuals came to stand before the door behind which they knew sat Gornuk, Goblin Elder and manager of affairs at Gringotts bank.

The two foremost of the group, rather squat and decked from head to foot in fine uniforms bearing the Gringotts' crest, were easily identifiable as members of the Goblin guard. The third, just as squat as the first two, and featuring a scowl worthy of any goblin anywhere, was nevertheless clearly human. As he waited for them to be announced and called in, he glared fiercely at the door, as if trying to burn a hole through the oaken barrier. His companion, also human, though considerably taller (which in truth was not that difficult)did not share his current mood, his expression almost completely neutral, only the close observer being able to detect the subtle smirk of amusement as he gazed at his friend's tightly clenched fists.

That same friend, he pondered, would probably have detected and demanded retribution for the mockery, but thankfully, hidden behind him and out of his gaze, he was safe.

_Ah…Leander, you are easier to read than a book .Thank Merlin and the Spirits that you weren't a Slytherin._

Indeed, Cyrus Greengrass had known Leander Judson Hayes far too long and far too well for him not to be able to decipher this behavior on his part. He had certainly borne witness to it often enough.

The flaring eyes, the slight twitch of the fingers as if begging to be filled once more with his wand (perhaps to curse the unwary passerby), quill and parchment; the incessant muttering both of calculations(for the work he desperately needed to be doing) and recriminations (damning whoever had dragged him away from it).

It was safe to say very few people got away with interrupting Master Hayes from his precious work. Indeed, hardly anyone ever interrupted him at all, because working is what he was usually doing.

Greengrass shook his head. Whatever his feelings towards it, Leander was hardly stupid enough to disregard a summons from Gornuk. Not that that would prevent him from making his displeasure known, something which Greengrass hoped he would not have to interfere in; it would not be the first time damage control was needed to prevent Leander from going too far in his behavior to the Goblin.

He once again wondered what business the Goblin Elder could possibly have need of them for at such short notice. The first thing that came to mind was obviously Egypt, since it was the most imminent at the moment, but Hayes', Gornuk's and his partnership was tied up in quite a few previously established affairs already, any one of which could be concerned.

Egypt was only made more probable by the mounting impatience of all parties to finally have their careful plans lead to results. The expedition had been two years in the making, months of negotiation and organization that was still requiring polishes and clarification. Other projects had had to be mostly pushed aside because sheer amount of work involved, so that there really was little chance of large concerns emerging from those quarters.

It only took a minute from their invitation inside the room, finally affording them a view of Gornuk, for his musings to be confirmed.

Greetings made as the two goblin Guards carefully sealed the double-paneled door through which they had just entered; Greengrass was quick to take in the map of North-Eastern Africa on the desk, as well as an unidentified scroll of parchment that had taken its place as the Goblin's current object of study.

Absorbing all the information he could glean from observation alone, Greengrass judged the scroll to be rather thick and finely trimmed, indicative of superior quality. A tight and slightly slanted scrawl just visible below the curl of the page, and the top edge, this time clearly in his field of vision, was dominated by a broken semicircle of blue wax in its middle; both elements which led to believe it was a letter.

He wondered briefly who it was from, and what import it could possibly have concerning the expedition or any of its three perpetrators. He glanced towards the Runes' Master.

Hayes for his part seemed generally less preoccupied with assessing the situation than his friend, current efforts predominantly focused on glaring at Gornuk more than studying the map or the letter.

The goblin however did not seem to mind. If anything, the habitual mask-like expression seemed slightly disturbed by an ever so slight upturn curve of the upper lip, something Greengrass might have passed over had he not been fishing for details latch onto, but which he was relatively sure was a smirk. Equally present, and somewhat unsettling in such an individual as this, was the intense gleam in the beady eyes, which only seemed to increase as he took in the disgruntled ire of one wizard and the cautious evaluation of the other.

"Greengrass, Hayes, I see you have both managed to pull yourselves from your respective activities (this was said with an amused glance at Hayes, to which the targeted wizard responded with a loud snort of annoyance). We have much to discuss and as much to do, while time presses increasingly."

At this, Hayes let out a second snort, this time followed by a severely clipped tone of annoyance. "Maybe some of us'd be less pressed for time, Goblin, if meddlesome creatures did not interrupt their work."

Greengrass resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation at Hayes' rude attitude; that was hardly the way to deal with a goblin. Indeed, Gornuk seemed to agree with this view of things, his eyes narrowing as he answered his irate challenger. Goblins did not particularly take to being referred to as 'creatures'.

"I would remind you, 'human' that your precious work includes our dealings. If you are so lax towards your involvement in them, I could remember to spare you from such summons in future. Unfortunately, I judged your particular presence necessary today."

The tone was even, but the implications were evident, Hayes grumbling slightly but not rising in return. All three knew it would lead to nothing, the arrangements as they were remained too mutually beneficial to both Goblin and Humans (Hayes and Greengrass) alike for either to wish jeopardizing them; Hayes had been properly chastened, and the subject was closed.

It was Greengrass who led them back to the purpose of the meeting. "What matters are particularly pressing?" he inquired. "I should assume, from the map in front of you, that this concerns our imminent removal to Egypt, but the finishing touches of the expedition will not be finished for another two weeks at the earliest, if not the full four weeks I am currently predicting. Though such delays are regrettable, that would take us at least to mid to late September."

Gornuk answered him with a conciliatory nod, but his vocal reply brought objection. "That would have been true until recently, but not any longer. While our plans do need another fortnight to affirm themselves, other factors have recently arisen which should we not take advantage of immediately, could stall them until some time into October."

"How so?"

Gornuk smirked slightly at his audience's apparent confusion, while Hayes listened on silently, still scowling.

"The Wizengammot are to convene in two days' time, as per tradition to meet on the first Saturday of the month. The next gathering would not be until the seventh of October, a full fortnight of additional delay from your least optimistic estimations."

Greengrass' puzzlement only grew. "How would the Wizengammot affect our plans? All the authorization and paperwork we need has already been completed through the Ministry, and even had it not, it's out of their jurisdiction."

Gornuk nodded once more. "That is correct. But it is not the Wizengammot as a whole that I am interested in, rather an individual. Surely rumours have reached you of the reemergence of one of the Twenty-Five. You are after all a member of the Assembly yourself are you not?"

Greegrass nodded. "I was the closest male heir to the Greengrass title when my elder brother died, and have indeed since been counted amongst the Twenty-five. As for the rumours, word has indeed been circulating of a supposed aspirer to the title of an ancient house, but I was reluctant to heed them. It would not be the first time a young upstart tried to pull himself into an undeserved position of power."

Gornuk shook his head. "No, the rumours are correct, as I can attest to myself, having had dealings with the young Lord directly. I can guarantee he is no usurper. Wait to meet him before you form your opinion, Greengrass, but I think you should avoid hasty censure as regards this particular human. Mark my words, however young he is, Peverell is one to watch."

"Peverell?"

Both wizards present had reacted, but Hayes' sudden emergence from silence was the most noted, and his two companions turned to him. Gornuk's grin returned full force. "Yes indeed, Master Hayes. I see you have begun to surmise where this conversation is heading."

Hayes grunted.

Greengrass meanwhile looked from Gornuk to his friend, trying to comprehend what he had missed.

"Should've known that impudent rascal was nobility, with that attitude of his. Ungrateful cocky whelp that he is…I knew that name sounded familiar…"

It was Gornuk's turn to snort. Hayes glared at him.

"You have yet to send me any complaints regarding his capabilities, Hayes, and from you, that is enough of a guarantee of his prowess."

"He's adequate" Hayes barked, "nothing more." His glare at Gornuk sharpened "and it's certainly not enough to justify you hoisting him on me, you meddlesome Goblin."

"He needed a Master, you had no apprentice, and I knew his talents could be of service to you. Why should I not, as you say, 'hoist' him onto you? You would hardly lose from it, and if he really was so terrible, it would be easy enough to have him break the contract."

Greengrass' eyes widened. "You have taken up an apprentice?", he asked Hayes, "Since when?"

Looking once more first to one than the other searchingly, he settled his gaze on the wizard he had adressed, gracing him with an evaluative gaze, before putting in "I have yet to see you qualify the work of a Runes' apprentice as adequate, let alone allow him to work under your mentorship. From you that is the equivalent of putting his name up for the Order of Merlin."

Hayes' glare turned from Gornuk to Greengrass. "I was pressured into taking him in, and really his only redeeming quality is that he is attuned to parselmagic. That asset moreover is hardly one he can accredit to particular perseverance on his part; he was born with it."

Gornuk scoffed. "Hardly. He was born a parselmouth. It is another thing entirely to harness that aspect of his magic and tame it into consolidating his Runes' training."

Greengrass started again. "A Parselmouth? And attuned in parselrunes? That would be reason enough to take him to Egypt on its own, whether or not you believe this talent is due in any way to his own merit. I am not a Runes' master Hayes, and I know well enough that manipulating parselrunes effectively would be more beneficial than forcing our way through by breaking them. It would be less dangerous and more productive in the long term." He turned to Gornuk. "I suppose you wanted to approach him for the expedition while using the appeal of a Wizengammot contact to lure him?"

Gornuk nodded.

"Peverell is smart, and strong-willed enough to stand on his own, but he is not ignorant of his vulnerabilities in entering the Wizengammot as a new player. Meeting with him prior Saturday, with or without Hayes could enable you to establish an acquaintance, and start ties which Saturday's Wizengammot conference would consolidate if you wished it. He could hardly refuse to take part in the expedition if Hayes saw fit to include him," he nodded towards the Runes' Master, "his vows of apprenticeship bind him to follow. But Peverell has now under seventeen months of his Mastery training to complete, at which time his continued ties to the project would be left entirely to him."

"Seventeen months? Apprenticeships take a minimum of three years before Masteries can even be attempted."

"Peverell particularly requested council in his search for a Runes' Master due to the singularity of his situation. From what I have understood, both his Masters were killed, which unfortunately left him with an apprenticeship to complete without the mentor for him to do so."

"Masters? Plural?"

Gornuk smirked and nodded. "He is already an accredited Defense Master. Runes are only his secondary field. He turned to consider Hayes. "Such an accomplishment so young can only attest to his previously doubted merit."

Hayes had nothing to answer to that particular provocation. A Defense Mastery was not something you could just ignore.

For Greengrass, it was the tip of the scale. If this Peverell was indeed all Gornuk had said he was (and really since when had a Goblin offered more than was due in regards to a wizard?) an alliance with him should definitely be envisaged. Even Hayes' opinion of him seemed to confirm this (though in his case, it had been gleaned more from what had not been said rather than what had).

No Slytherin worth his salt could pass over such an opportunity, and no one could say that Cyrus Greengrass was not a Slytherin.

"I'll send him a post then."

Gornuk's smile was completed with a smug laugh.

"No need Greengrass, I sent out an owl an hour before you arrived. Peverell will expect you at his home at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning to discuss all that we just have."

End of Book 1


	11. Bk 2 First Play,White Ch10 Evening Inqui

Book 2 First Play, White

**CHAPTER 10 Evening Inquisition**

_Tuesday, October 10, 1985, 21:15, Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts_

When anticipating a situation requiring the skills of his profession; a spy ensured the best possible advantage to himself for the success of his goals. Guaranteeing himself said advantage was never easy, but nevertheless crucial, both for the accomplishment of his task as well as his continued existence. Any vulnerability, perceived or existing, on his part, was an open door to failure. It was why the spy, from the earliest moments of life, learnt to calculate the meanest of his actions, playing the chess game of life always five moves ahead.

Severus Snape, though he had, in actual fact, only truly become a spy just under five years ago (and then only for a year, as difficult as that year had been), had cultivated such knowledge within himself from infancy. Living as the unwanted offspring of an inebriate millworker and a disgraced pureblood witch had required it. Seven years struggling through the stifling and backstabbing atmosphere of Slytherin House had only reinforced it. Hogwarts over, being thrown at the feet of the Dark Lord himself, it had become a question of survival.

No matter that it been two more years before Snape swore his services to Dumbledore, that dark stormy night, disarmed and begging and terrified (mostly for himself or _for her_, he had not known), by then the tricks of the trade had been second nature.

It had become simpler, somewhat, in the last few years. After the death of…-no he would not make himself think of that, _of her_, again, it was too painful-after the end of it all, and then the trials-the nightmare of dementors and cold cells and wary looks cast in his direction-, Snape had been allowed to breathe again. Somewhat. Until it came back to him, Dumbledore's prediction, nay, Dumbledore's promise that it would come back. That the backlash of _her_ death, that the full weight of what tortured him would continue for a while yet. He resented it most of the time, hated it at others, hated it almost as much as he hated himself; but it was necessary. What else could he do when the accusing and wary look of her eyes-her gorgeous gleaming emerald eyes- blazed at him across haunting thoughts that no Occlumency could deter. It was why even now, at the end of a grueling day teaching idiots, from which he was desperate to dive into the depths of his personal research, he was instead swallowing down the indignity of being ambushed and served his own liquor in his quarters.

However bothersome and obnoxious Lucius Malfoy might be, keeping in with the old Death Eater crowd was essential, and the aristocratic blond, whatever his many annoying traits, was one of the least bothersome of the lot, as well as the best connected. You could also take into consideration that Snape was currently as interested in the subject of tonight's meeting as Malfoy himself, albeit for different reasons. Lastly, however contrary it was to have Malfoy invading his sanctuary, such an invasion had not, after the report of Saturday's Wizengammot session, been truly unexpected, and Snape had at least had forwarning enough to plan accordingly. Upon reflection, Snape was thankful at the surprising level of restraint Malfoy had shown in not storming through the Floo in the first hours of Sunday morning, if not as soon as the congregation had broken up the day before. Certainly hearing the account of Peverell's reappearance in the Assembly seats from Dumbledore beforehand had given him time to refocus his enquiries, as well as an opportunity for the Headmaster and him to discuss to what extent Malfoy should be informed. There had been no avoidance of the fact that much would have to be revealed. The topic was too hot and the rumours too rampant for them to risk the blond Death-Eater discovering hidden facts through other means. It simply meant Snape would have to be all the more careful in how he proceded.

As it was, Lucius had arrived roughly ten minutes previously, and had wasted no time demanding answers of Snape. He had also, unconsidering of what liberties he might be taking, served himself a tumbler of meade without invitation and promptly swallowed it down as easily as if it had been pumpkin juice. The intensity of the stare he fixed on Snape, was such that had he not known better, the Potions' Master might have thought he was being _Legilimized_.

"I have no promising information to impart, Lucius."

The staring eyes flared dangerously. "You've had three days Snape! Three days on top of the weeks we've been at this, with barely any advancements to go on. I am sick and tired of knowing nothing; don't you dare tell me you still don't!" Lucius' expression was blazing and his countenance hysterical, rising agitatedly out of his chair and standing to glare at the Potions master, who, in comparison,seemed quite composed. No sign of reaction escaped him beyond a long slow sip of his meade and a smooth lift of an eyebrow, a fact that did little to ingratiate him to his companion. Lucius furrowed his brow accusingly. "What is the use of you playing sycophant to that demented mudblood-loving fool if associating with him brings you nothing?" He saw Snape catch his sneer , and the raised eyebrow lifted higher.

"One would little grasp why you should put yourself through such degradation should it not at least reap some advantage." His tone was biting and the implied undercurrent to the words resounded clearly: Lucius did not care for associating with those he perceived as degradations.

"You go too far, Malfoy." There was a pause, as hard black eyes met grey.

Voice soft as honey and deadly as poison, it was Snape's turn to sneer. "I do not answer to you, Lucius, and would do well to remember it."

However great the importance of staying in Malfoy's favour, Snape's limited patience would not let him be kicked about like a mindless puppet. Such provocation from the elder Slytherin might have worked when he was Snape's upperclassman and House prefect, but no longer. Snape bared his left forearm for both to see, the dulled outline of the Dark Mark still in stark contrast to the deathly paleness of the skin it was bound to. "Only one wizard has ever had the honour of unwavering service on my part towards him Malfoy, and I shall bow to no one else."

A meaningful pause followed this statement, the tension in the room mounting just a notch, until he was granted with a curt nod, and Malfoy finally sat down. It was Snape who spoke again first, tone slightly less lethal, but sneer still firmly in place.

"As for my playing lapdog to Dumbledore, the benefit I "reap" as you so eloquently put it, is not spending the rest of my days in Azkaban. Not all of us possess the wealth of centuries to pave our way out with galleons." His look became pointed, challenging contradiction. "The so-called lack of information from him, moreover, is conditioned by the same hurdles. Whatever his naïf belief in the good of people and second chances , even his beneficence has limits. I can hardly wander around making suspicious enquiries." The leveled stare became mocking. "I also admit to finding it hypocritical, Lucius, that such a comment should come from you. You speak of the degradation of tying myself thus to him, or at least appearing to publically, but what of your attitude towards Fudge? Dumbledore at least, is powerful, and has a brain. He has also been behind most of the snatches of information we _have_ managed to glean over the last few weeks, however limited. I rather wonder, then, what use our dear Minister has been?" His eyebrow raised carefully in expectation. "Having heard you repeatedly extoll his uselessness in our matter of interest over the last month and a half, I can hardly understand how _youcan _ justify toadying up to an incomprehensible idiot such as Fudge let alone criticize _my_ chosen target for security."

Malfoy's attempted reply to this was batted away like an irksome fly.

"I am sure there are many advantages to having idiots in positions of power, Malfoy, but enough of it for now, I have no wish to hear any of them. We are here to discuss Peverell."

"What is there to discuss? You emphatically told me you had nothing to say!" Malfoy started to rise again before being roughly pushed down.

"I said nothing of the sort, you just assumed." Once again, all protestation to this pronouncement was hushed and Snape was left to clarify. "I merely stated that I had nothing promising to impart, and you chose to bumble about in a rage like a mindless Gryffindor."

Lucius scowled.

"Well then? What _did_ you learn?"

Snape considered Malfoy carefully, taking in the full extent of the frustration that was practically seeping from him. The man was desperate for news, _any_ news –no matter that it should be unwelcome -that much had been clear ever since the two of them, the titled wizarding Lord in particular, had finally become aware of the true significance of Peverell's identity.

It seemed strange to recall now, somehow, after weeks of careful enquiry and research, that Malfoy had initially not cared about Peverell beyond agreeing to ask a few discrete questions at the Ministry or having Snape keep him updated on any interesting advancements. Even their decoding (with Dumbledore's helpful knowledge), of the initials C.I.P. to the name of Caspian Peverell had not been sufficient to sound the alarm bells. It confirmed what they had already known, that Peverell was a wizarding Lord. It certainly sealed his belonging to an old pureblood line, but it was not unheard of (though undoubtedly rare) for lesser nobility to reemerge every decade or so, revealing themselves to have been abroad, or belonging to cousin families having inherited the parent line titles. Insofar, that had only supported the possibility of Malfoy gaining a wealthy and talented (if his mastery were anything to go by) asset upon which to exert his influence.

That had all changed when, contrary to anyone's expectations (except Dumbledore's perhaps, although he had infuriatingly kept silent about it), Peverell had revealed himself at the September gathering of the Wizengammot.

Of course, the name's being familiar to Lucius, however distantly, should have been a clue. The makeup of the Twenty-Five Families of Assembly of Lords had been (though evidently not sufficiently) ingrained in his pureblood education for infancy.

Malfoy had protested (as he would, Snape mused)that that Assembly seat had been empty for close to two centuries, and how in the world had he been supposed to know Peverell was one of the three unidentified heirs in the Twenty-Five?

This revelation had, however, completely changed Malfoy's view of the situation. Peverell revealed as belonging to the major governmental body of wizarding Britain, on par with the Ministry of Magic, placed him in a position of power equal to Lucius' own. Instead of a social inferior, on whom his authority could easily be asserted easily enough, Malfoy was met with an additional challenge to his control in the political arena.

Malfoy would not have been quite so aggravated, Snape thought, had the mystery wizard at least entered that same arena in the position of vulnerability and isolation his being a new arrival should have guaranteed.

In lieu of that, the most recent Head of an Ancient and Noble wizarding House had emerged at the side of Cyrus Greengrass of all people, who had wasted no time in introducing him to Amelia Bones (Head of the Ministerial branch of the Wizengammot, as well as Head of the DMLE), Graham Griffin (another of the Twenty-Five), and Balthazar Rush, just to name a few; making it unlikely to trap him under his thumb. To add insult to injury, within the week following this spectacular introduction to the wizarding world, Peverell had all but completely vanished. Occassional appearances, almost exclusively on weekends, were all Snape (who had been renewing his efforts to tail him every elusive trace he found) had to assure him he still existed. These repeated failures were only mirrored by Lucius' own lack of results in getting anything out of the Minister(not that Snape ever expected anything from him anyway) to the increasing irritation of both.

Yes, Snape could completely understand why Malfoy's patience was wearing thin. The Hogwarts professor himself was grateful that recent advancements in his research, Miriander having (notwithstanding the outrageous raise in prices) finally managing to replenish his ingredients, had at least given Snape something positive to turn his attention to.

Snippets of details had managed to be collected over the course of their investigation (Peverell's occasionnal passages into Diagon , Hogsmeade and even one particular excursion into Jeurn Alley for what revealed to be a Grimoire of Forgotten Runes) but very little of consequence. Between his classes, Potions work and new Head of Slytherin duties, notwithstanding his target's phantom appearances, updates in news were few and far between. Until the last few days, the most important discovery- dating back to mid-September- had been that Peverell had renewed his Runes Apprenticeship- and _that_-to none other than Leander Hayes.

As for the most recent information,-which was after all the reason for Malfoy's current imposition-, brought about by Snape's conference with Dumbledore and the success of a few of his own hasty endeavours; it was somewhat enlightening to be sure, but Snape had to be very careful how much he let slip to his interlocutor.

The Potion's Master steely gaze met Malfoy's slowly; expression impassive; refusing to acknowledge the expectant glint of impatience concealed with it; and still debating how much concealment would place Malfoy's trust in him (as far as it went) at risk. He would have to say something, he knew; and soon, before Malfoy's jitteriness became unbearable.

With a mental nod acknowledging his decision, Snape silently summoned the meade with a careless flick of his wand, refilling both their tumblers as he started to speak. He had an idea that either of them (or possibly both) might be thankful for it later.

"The most clear cut information I have gathered, as well as the most reliably corroborated, concerns where Peverell has been running off to in his absence form the social scene. I trust your formidable contacts at the ministry have made you aware of Gringotts' excursion to Egypt?"

Malfoy furrowed his brow in consideration. "I heard some noise of it, yes, but nothing definate. The project was only submitted to the Ministry office recently, and with as big a project as was intimated at, it could hardly take off so quickly. The logistics alone; not counting organising a teams of warders and gathering adequates forragers on location...such a scheme would take months. Though even were it already off the ground, you can't mean to suggest Peverell would be involved? A virtual unknown, and so quickly?"

Snape shook his head. "The project is not recent, just the deposition of it at the Ministry. It was all very hush-hush. You know as well as I do that the Goblins are famous for enjoying their anonymity. Rumour has it it was kept particularly close to avoid any repetition of the Aztec Gold fiasco of four years ago. From what I understand it's been on the backburner for months, possibly years now, waiting patiently for everything to be in place. As for Peverell's involvement, the first I heard of it implied it had only gone as far as a financial investment in the project, until I had word that Hayes and Greengrass are leading the wizarding side of operations."

Lucius continued to look at Snape with what could possibly be described as willful incredulity, but an undercurrent of apprehension now accompanied his expression.

"You would not find it strange for Hayes to include an apprentice in such a venture? We were already surprised enough at his having taken an apprentice on, but this would be going even further than that."

Snape's answering expression gave little comfort.

He shook his head in annoyance, while his companion studied him, silently. The Potions' Master knew Malfoy was uncomfortable with Peverell having already received such a level of acceptance within the peers of the wizarding community. Hayes was not a political figure, but he was respected and revered, as well as not the easiest to please. If Peverell could seduce him so easily, he would probably have the entire wizarding community in his pocket in no time.

Lucius sighed defeatedly, or as much a Malfoy would allow himself to do so. "I would not like to wish it true", he went on, "but it would explain Greengrass' contact with Peverell prior to his formal presentation at the Wizengammot. I should have considered the possibility, Hayes' and Greengrass' business partnership being well-known." He shook his head in exasperation. "If anything, Peverell's prolonged dealings with Greengrass are even more inconvenient. An alliance between them among the Twenty-Five could threaten my hold on the ministry."

Snape let Malfoy continue his soliloquy, glad at not having mentioned the Headmaster's suspicion of Peverell also having ties with the Goblins. If Peverell's rising connections in the Wizengammot were enough to annoy him this much, this line of consideration was hardly going to reassure him. He had not believed it possible initially, despite the immense frequency of Peverell's visits to Gringotts, but his being included in the Egypt excursion would certainly support the theory.

He focused back the discussion as Malfoy himself voiced some part of his internal argument.

"You are certain of this? Would the Goblins allow it? I cannot find it likely that a race as suspicious as goblins would accept to enroll a near stranger in such a venture; particularly one not even fully qualified in the field in which he would be needed."

"Wishful thinking." assured Snape solemnly, steering Malfoy's line of thought away from the truth (or Dumbledore's suspected version of it). "One could argue easily enough that they would have been mad not to take him. He is a Defense Master after all; a guarantee of an in-depth understanding of the mechanics of the Dark Arts that could hardly be ignored when planning to plunder cursed Egyptian tombs. As for his only being an apprentice in Runes, I believe it insignificant. While somewhat unusual, it is rumoured Greengrass' niece has gone herself, as her uncle's Charms apprentice, and she has started her training much more recently than Peverell who is at least half-way through it already. No matter that she only got the opportunity because she was related to him; if Greengrass managed to convince the Goblins she would be an asset, they could hardly then use Peverell's missing qualifications against him when his involvement was brought up. We will just have to assume that Hayes and Greengrass' request for his presence is enough to satisfy them."

_Not to mention they mighthave orchestrated it in the first place, if Dumbledore is right about Peverell's Goblin ties._

Lucius nodded resignedly, his dissatisfaction clear. Shaking himself out of it, he looked back at Snape. "Anything else?"

Snape narrowed his eyes consideringly. "Possibly, but nothing certain. There have been implications that he could have family close by, accounting for his weekend visits, but I have not heard anything concrete that would support this."

"Family? Could it have been the reason behind his return in the first place?"

Snape nodded slowly."It is a possibility, but I think it unlikely. If there have been no traces of the Peverell line for so long, we could hardly be expect a collection of cousin lines to suddenly appear as well."

This of course, was hardly true, as Snape himself knew, due to Dumbledore's disclosure, only the day after his first sighting of the mysterious Defense Master, that the Peverells were a parent lines to the Potters. Snape felt that such information could hardly be relevant however, for even should Peverell be aware of it (which was by no means a certainty), the last Lord Potter was dead, and the House's scion hidden away Dumbledore knew where. Snape basked in the fact that nothing would be heard of the brat for another six years, so he felt there was little chance of Peverell getting to him even should he want to.

"A wife, then? And possibly children?"

Snape furrowed his brow. "I can not recall if there was a ring on his left hand, my attention was too much caught by the heir ring of his right. I suppose we could use a penseive to be sure, but I rather think we would have seen her in public by now."

"Unless there were an illness?" Lucius hypothesized. "You told me last time we met that several of your tails had led to the apothecary. Could he have been collecting ingredients for healing potions?"

Snape frowned. "I did not often manage to get a very complete idea of what he was buying, but I suppose the ingredients I did identify could come up in a certain number of healing potions. Nothing particularly striking however. The only purchase of note I recall was that shredded Arnica at the end of last month, as it is an infrequent form of preparation for the ingredient, and not used in the most banal of potions. I remember it particularly because it was a Wednesday, and that was the first time I chanced upon him at any other time than on the weeken..." he stopped short suddenly, realising something.

Lucius caught his expression.

"What is it?"

"I am unsure." Snape lied, hurriedly schooling his momentary shock into his more habitual frown; to underplay the significance of his momentary loss of composure.

"It might be nothing, but I will have to check among my mother's collection of disused potions."

Lucius looked at him carefully for a moment, with what Snape was sure was a hint of suspicion, but the portrayed impassivity of his face apparently seemed convincing enough.

"I will be certain to bring you up to date should anything come of it," he put in, "but it was only a passing thought, and too vague to make anything of at present."

Snape was glad when Lucius nodded in acceptance, thankful his continuing inner turmoil was not evident.

As a Potions Master, Snape was well versed with the tracking of the different phases of the moon, a know-how necessary for planning the best moment to collect ingredients that required lunar influence to reach full potency. He had been particularly careful in his tracking last month, due to the preference of certain potions needed in his research for moonstones gathered at summer's fall.

What were the chances then, of Peverell collecting one of the base ingredients of Wolfsbane two days before the full moon?


	12. -not chapter-

Hey all! Don't worry, am still rewriting this fic, slowly but surely, the edited version of chapter 2 is now up.

I know many of you are frustrated that i don't have any 'proper' new material but i felt like i needed to do these changes now before the details i plan o changing come and bite me in the ass. I'm very well aware that some rewriten chapters from me won't have any plot/ details change and only be a change of words, but its part of it too, my writing style has evolved since starting this story.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

xoxo ano


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